Cibrara  of 
Q:1]c  Unicersihj  of  Hortl]  Carolina 


COLLECTION     OF 

NORTH    CAROLINIAN  A 


ENDOWED      BY 

JOHN     SPRUNT     HILL 

of  the  class  of  1889 


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FOR  USE  ONLY  IN 
THE  NORTH  CAROLINA  COLLECTION 


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)rm  No.  A-368,  Rev.  8/95 


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When  the  Gates  Lift  Up 
Their  Heads 

A   S'TORT  OF   rHE   SEVENTIES 

By 

Payne   Erskine 


"Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates,  .  .  . 
and  the  King  of  glory  shall  come  in." 


**  All  I  could  never  be, 
All,  men  ignored  in  me, 
This,  I  was  worth  to  God,  whose  wheel  the  pitcher  shaped. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Fool  !  All  that  is,  at  all, 

Lasts  ever,  past  recall  5 
Earth  changes,  but  thy  soul  and  God  stand  sure  j 

What  entered  into  thee. 

That  was,  is,  and  shall  be  : 
Time's  wheeJ  runs  back  or  stops  :    Potter  and  clay  endure." 

Robert  Browning 


i    ' 


Boston 
Little,  Brown,  and  Company 

1901 


Copyright,  igoi. 
By  Little,  Brown,  &  Company 


All  rigbti  ^t&ierved 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS      •     JOHN   WILSON 
AND     SON      •      CAMBRIDGE,     U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

I.     Chiaro-oscuro I 

II.  The    Return    to    Old    Scenes    and    Ac- 
quaintances        30 

III.  Past  and  Present 53 

IV.  Old  Friendships 62 

V.    The  New  Boarding-house 79 

VI.    Hopes  and  Plans 99 

VII.    Under  Cover  of  Darkness 105 

VIIL    JosEPHus'  Secret 113 

IX.    A  Dusky  Coquette 126 

X.  Morning  Songs  and  Dogwood  Blooms    .  132 

XI.    The  Excursion 143 

XII.  The  Girl  at  the  German  Bridge  .     .     .  155 

XIII.  "Wen  de   Gates    Lift   Up  deir   Haids  "  166 

XIV.  The  Drive  Home 180 

XV.  "Why  n't  yo'  shoot  Turrer  Mule?"      .  192 

XVI.    "Ol'  Missus'  Return" 199 

XVII.    A  Girl's  Way 210 

XVIII.    Special  Pleading 230 

XIX.  Mammy  Cl'issy's  Buryin'  Clo'es       .     .     .  247 

XX.    The  Blind  Woman's  Visit 262 


vi  Contents 

Chapter  Page 

XXI.  Marguerite  Sets  the  Fashion      .     .     .  280 

XXII.    Confidences 290 

XXIII.  Rescue  and  Surrender     .     .     .     .-    .     .  310 

XXIV.  Aunt  Isabel  Remonstrates  ....*.  331 
XXV.  Portia  Sings  the  Old  Songs    •     •     •     •  351 

XXVI.    The  Old  Days  Revived 365 

XXVII.    A  Midnight  Visit 377 

XXVIII.    A  Bitter  Cup 392 

XXIX.    The  Judgment  of  Portia 418 


WHEN    THE    GATES 
LIFT  UP  THEIR  HEADS 

A    ^TORY    OF    THE    SEVEJVTIES 

CHAPTER   I 
CHI  ARO-OSCURO 

JOSEPHUS,  dat  yo'  clut'rin'  roun'  dar?  Wha' 
yo'  s'poses  I  hyah  dis  mawnin'?  Yo'  t'ink 
'case  I  don'  git  roun'  spry,  like  I  use  tu,  no 
mo',  I  don'  hyah  nuffin'.  Dem  folkses  f  om  de 
No'f  's  gwine  fix  up  de  ol'  place  an'  take  bo'dahs." 
The  speaker  replaced  a  cob  pipe  between  her  lips 
and  laughed  a  low,  soft  chuckle.  ''Take  bo'dahs 
f  om  de  No'f  in  de  ol'  place  !  My,  ef  ol'  missus' 
ghos'  won't  r'ar  roun'  de  place  'nd  make  dem  screach 
in  deir  baids  !  " 

The  heavy  step,  lumbering  over  the  loose  board 
floor  of  Mammy  Clarissa's  lean-to  addition  to 
her  one-room  cabin,  ceased  a  moment.  Presentlv 
Josephus'  huge  figure  darkened  the  small  doorway. 
He  must  stoop  if  he  would  enter.  Leaning  against 
the  door-post,  he  regarded  the  old  woman,  com- 
placently smoking  by  the  chimney-side,  with  a 
curious  gleam  of  humor  lighting  his  broad  black 
face. 

**  Wha*  fo'  ol'  missus'  ghos'  r'ar  roun'  de  place  'fo* 
shedaid?" 
I 


2       When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Ef  she  daid,  sonny,  ef  she  daid.  She  ain'  hate 
nuffin'  like  she  hate  dem  No'f  Yankees.  She  nebber 
gwine  leab  dem  lib  in  de  ol'  place  'daout  she  pester 
'em.  VVhar  missus  hate,  she  pester.  She  ain* 
gwine  leab  go  her  teef  no  mo'  'n  a  bulldog,  foh  all 
she  so  slim  an'  limber,  like  de  win'  gwine  blow  her 
'way.  I  knows  ol'  missus,  I  does.  I  knowed  ol' 
missus  eber  sence  we  war  gals  'nd  uset  tu  play 
togedder.  She  hate  yallah  gal,  wus  'n  she  hate  nig- 
gers 'nd  po'  white  trash.  I  knows  her."  With 
another  soft  laugh  she  puffed  away  at  her  pipe  in 
meditative  silence. 

*'Whar  yo'  git  so  much  hyahin'  o'  de  news, 
mammy?"    Lovers  of  gossip  are  the  negroes  all. 

"  Chas,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"  Chas !  "  thundered  the  man,  with  sudden  anger. 
"Chas!  Did  n'  I  tol'  Chas  nebber  come  dis-yer 
way  'g'in  'daout  he  want  one  good  squarin'  up  wid 
me?  Did  n'  I  tol*  Chas  ef  he  come  walkin'  daoun 
dis  road  wid  he's  gen'l'man  clo's,  an'  greased  ha'r,  'n' 
sassy  maouf,  I  gwine  roll  him  daoun  de  branch  like 
he  a  gum  log  struck  wid  de  lightnin'?  Which-a-way 
Chas  go  ?  " 

The  old  woman  puffed  on  In  silence. 

"  Which-a-way  Chas  go?"  he  shouted,  striding  in. 

Slowly,  with  the  aid  of  her  stick,  she  rose  to  her 
feet,  and  lifted  one  hand  in  warning,  "  Haish, 
Josephus!  'Case  I  ol'  an'  crupple  up,  yo'  t'ink  I 
gwine  sit  heah  an'  hyah  yo'  hollah  at  me  like  dat- 
a-way !  I  ain'  hoi'  yo'  bof  In  my  ahms  an'  take  de 
kyah  an'  patronage  ob  yo'  an'  nuss  yo'  fo'  no  sich 
wrastlln's  'n'  fightin's  an'  goln's  on  like  yu'ns  been 
goin'  on  dese   days.     Ef  yo'  wan's   Gabr'ella,  take 


Chiaro-oscuro  3 

yo'se'f  yandah  in  de  co'n  patch,  whar  yo'  b'long. 
She  ain'  no  fool.  She  know  whar  de  silvah  dollah 
weigh  de  heavies',  on  de  back,  o'  in  de  pocket. 
Yo'  git  de  dollah  in  de  pocket,  'n*  see  whar  Gabr'ella 
du  de  pickin'." 

*'  I  ain'  kyah'n  'bouts  sich  trash."  Josephus 
lowered  his  voice.  "  Mammy  Clissy,  yo'  alius 
favohs  Chas  'case  he  cahy  yo'  white  face,  'n'  slim, 
fine  figgah,  like  he  a  bohned  white  man.  He  ain' 
no  mo'  white  man  'n  I  is.  Heah  yo'  is  ol'  an' 
crupple,  wid  de  rheumatiz  in  de  bones.  Wha'  he 
duin'  fo'  s'pote  yo'  ?  Stannin'  raoun'  de  stoah, 
smokin'  de  gen'l'man'  segyah,  wahin'  de  gen'l'man 
clo'es,  dat  buy  yo'  light-'ud  fo'  bile  de  kittle?  Huh  ! 
Ef  he  come  heah  wid  he  sassy  mouf,  I  gwine  knock 
dat  fool  smile  aout'n  him  like  I  knocks  de  grunt 
aout'n  de  slick  po'kah  time  de  hog-killin'."  With 
this  angry  threat  he  stooped  to  pass  through  the 
low  doorway. 

"  Josephus  Ma'shall,  yo'  look  me  squah  in  de 
eye."  He  paused  at  her  solemn  tone.  *'  Min'  now, 
yo'  knows  yo'  ain'  got  no  grudges  'gin  Chas  ontwell 
yo'  bof  git's  sot  on  Gabr'ella  Gunn  wha'  plays  de 
melogimum  daoun  tu  de  cullud  folkses'  meet'n- 
haous  like  dey  does  in  de  white  folkses'  church. 
Humph  !  No  use  in  ouh  folks  puttin'  on  dese  heah 
fine  ahs  'n'  ways  like  dey  whitah  'n  white  folkses. 
Wen  I  war  gal  I  min'  haou  dey  uset  tu  git  'ligion 
daoun  tu  de  cullud  quatahs.  Dey  git  daoun  on  dey 
knees  an'  cry  aout  an'  call  on  de  Sperit,  an'  rock 
dey  se'fs  back  an'  fo'th  wid  de  powah,  an'  Brudder 
Thomas  Ma'shall  line  off  de  hymn,  an'  dey  niggahs 
dey  jes*  rise  up  an'  jine  in  de  cho'us  wid  de  '  Glory 


4     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Hallelulia  Ahmeii '  ontwell  dey  nigh  lif  de  ruff  off 
dc  cabin,  clar  up  tu  Heaben,  an'  de  Sperit  come 
daoun  like  de  lightnin'  f'om  de  stohm  claoud. 
Sho'  nuff,  yo'  don*  hyah  nuffin'  like  dat  dese  days, 
wid  her  a-grin'in'  aout  de  chune  on  dat  ar  machine, 
an'  de  niggahs  gaupin'  raoun'  at  de  fine  clo's  jes'  fo' 
all  de  worl'  like  white  folkses." 

"  Huh !  Wha'  all  dat  du  wid  me  'n'  Chas?  " 
"  Yo'  t'ink  I  favahs  Chas?  Look  a-heah.  Ef 
yo'  a  min'  yo'  kin  win'  Chas  raoun'  an  switch  off 
he's  haid  like  he  been  a  willah  twig  in  de  spring. 
Wid  he's  fool  ways  he  ain'  got  no  show  long  side 
Josephus  no-ways.  Yo'  leab  Chas  'lone,  hyah,  an' 
leab  Gabr'ella  du  de  pickin'.  I  'low  she  hab  eyes, 
'n'  mo'  sense  'n  bof  yu'ns  put  togedder.  He  ain'  in 
yo'  way  no  mo'  dan  I  is.  Jes'  yo'  own  lazy  way  an' 
mannah,  clutt'rin'  raoun'  de  haous  co'n-plant'n' 
time  mo'  in  yo'  way  wid  sich  a  right  smaht  peart 
gal  like  Gabr'ella." 

"  G'long  'bouts  Gabr'ella,"  returned  Josephus, 
doggedly.  "  I  ain'  gvvine  'low  dat  high-tone  Lawd 
Chastahfield  Mahshall  smile  dat  gran'  smile  tu  me 
like  he  haff  tu  step  daoun  off  'n  de  white  folkses' 
meet'n-haous  ruff  ebcry  time  he  'low  he's  se'f  tu 
say  haoudy." 
e/.<^  /  *'  Nuvva  yo'  min',  honey,  yo'  don'  git  no  highah 
'  ^  n  up  in  dis  worl'  knockin'  nuddah  man  daoun.  Yo' 
■f-4 \^^  ca'y  yo*  haid  up  like  dat  ah  rock  top  o'  yandah 
maountain.  Hit  a  mighty  brack  rock,  heap  bracker 
'n  yo'  is,  but  I  'low  Chas'  smile  kyan  touch  hit,  an' 
dar  hit  stan'  f'om  de  beginnin's  ob  de  yearth.  Wen 
yo'  feels  like  yo'  gwine  git  daoun  an'  t'rash  Chas,^ 
jes'  yo'  look  yandah  an'  t'ink  w'at  yo'  ol'  mammj 


Chiaro-oscuro  5 

tells  yo'.  Wen  dat  rock  gwine  kill  sump'n  hit 
baoun'  tu  leab  de  maount'n  top,  an'  roll  daoun  in  de 
branch,  an'  hit  ain'  gwine  git  back  no  mo'." 

There  remained  no  more  to  be  said.  Josephus 
drew  a  huge  silver  watch  from  his  pocket,  and, 
scowlingly  consulting  it,  said,  "  I  'low  ef  I  git  ol' 
Jude  shod  dis  ebenin'  I  betteh  scuttle  roun'." 

Knocking  the  ashes  from  her  pipe  and  placing  it 
on  a  shelf  suspended  near  the  chimney.  Mammy 
Clarissa  proceeded  to  rake  open  the  embers  of  the 
morning's  fire. 

**  Fotch  heah  leetle  mo'  light-'ud,  sonny.  I 's 
gwine  knock  togeddah  a  co'n  pone.  Sho'  nuff,  yo' 
gwine  hab  dinnah  'fo'  yo'  goes.  Yo'  ol'  mammy 
gits  mighty  lonesome  w'en  dey  ain'  nobody  heah 
tu  smack  dey  lips  ovah  her  cookin'." 

Stepping  about  with  considerable  alertness,  with 
the  aid  of  her  cane,  there  was  a  cheerful  sound  in 
its  thump,  thump,  to  the  ears  of  Josephus;  she  soon 
had  a  crackling  fire  and  a  boiling  kettle,  while  the 
odor  of  toasting  bacon  pervaded  the  room.  She 
chattered  cheerfully  as  she  worked,  while  her  son 
sat  in  the  doorway  whittling  and  watching  her. 

**  I  reckon  yo'  steps  raoun'  heap  peartah  dan  half 
de  gals  ef  yo'  is  crupple,"  he  remarked,  as  she  set 
a  plate  of  smoking  corn-bread  on  a  little  table 
under  the  one  unglazed  window,  and  poured  out 
a  generous  cup  of  black  coffee. 

"  I  reckon,"  she  said,  a  quick  gleam  of  pride 
flashing  from  her  eyes.  Seventy  years  of  toil  and 
submission  had  not  quenched  their  fire. 

*' Mammy,  whar  was  yo'  rose?  Yo'  tells  a  heap 
'bouts  ol'  mars'r  'n'   de   ol'    place,  but   yo'   nuvva 


6     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

goes  back  on  dat  ar  ontvvell  yo'  'lowed  yo'  an'  ol' 
missus  uset  tu  play  tugeddah.  Wan'  ol'  missus 
fotch  up  heah  fom  New  O'leans  o'  daoun  dat-a- 
way  ?  " 

"  Laws !  Play  wid  ol'  missus  !  I  speck  nobody 
evah  knowed  ol'  missus  like  I."  She  took  a  cup 
of  coffee  and  sat  down  opposite  her  son.  "  Yo' 
nuvah  hyeard  me  tell  'bout'n  my  maw.  She  war 
ol'  missus'  mammy.  We  war  'baout  'n  age,  liT  Miss 
Is'bel  'n'  me.  On'y  she  war  mo'  darker  'n  me  fo' 
all  she  war  white  bohned."  Mammy  Clarissa  leaned 
forward  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  and  her  cup 
of  coffee  held  in  both  hands,  while  she  gazed  far 
away  into  the  past.  **  Her  paw  war  Spanish.  He 
come  fom  Cuba  o'  Mexico,  o'  New  O'leans,  some 
o'  dem  islands  daoun  dat-a-way.  I  don'  rightly 
reckon  whar.  W'en  we  war  long  'baout  'n  eight 
y'ar  ol',  he  took  he's  fambly  an'  my  maw  long  back 
whar  he  come  fom.  My  maw  war  mighty  peart 
an'  putty,  an'  nigh  whitah  'n  I  is,  wid  a  cl'ar,  pale 
sof  skin,  wha'  look  like  de  moon  w'en  hit  come  up 
yandah  ovah  de  maount'n  in  de  daytime.  Many  's 
de  time  she  uset  tu  look  at  me  wid  dem  great  eyes 
o*  hern,  so  still  an  sad  like  I  uset  tu  kiver  my 
haid  wid  de  baid  clo'es  so  't  she  could  n'  look  no 
mo'.  I  min'  haow  she  took  on  w'en  mars'r  lef  me 
behine.  '  Oh,  my  li'l'  gal,  my  li'l'  gal.'  I  kin  hyah 
dem  words  yit  like  hit  war  yes'day,  an'  I  kin  see 
her  yit,  leanin'  ovah  dat  ar  side  railin'  long  side 
de  boat  wha'  she  sail  off  in.  Dem  de  las'  words 
I  evah  hyah  her  say,  an'  dat  de  las'  I  evah  see  o' 
her,  jes'  her  white,  white  face  wid  de  dark  ha'r 
crumple    raoun'  hit, —  her   ha'r  wan'  like   yo'    rale 


^    %il  i  ^^^-"f 


\ 


Chiaro-oscuro  7 

niggah  ha'r  110  way,  —  wid  her  fine  red  silk  tur- 
ban, an'  her  white  dress  blowin'  aout  wid  de  win', 
so  sof  an'  fine  (mars'r  al'us  war  mighty  proud  man, 
he  kep'  her  jes'  so  find  dressed  an'  peart)  wid  de 
tears  runnin'  daoun  an'  droppin'  in  de  watah,  an' 
*  Oh,  my  H'r  gal,  my  li'l'  gal  !  '  ovah  an'  ovah.  I 
nuvah  fogit  hit,  nuvah,  an'  li'l'  Miss  Is'bel  stannin' 
by  puUin'  on  her  dress  dis-a-way  an'  dat-a-way,  an' 
callin',  *  Mammy,  mammy,  leab  go  dat  railin',  come 
heah  an'  see  de  boats.'  She  war  al'us  mighty  mars- 
terful  war  Miss  Is'bel,  mighty  marsterful,  young  an' 
ol'.  I  spec'  ef  she  libbin'  she  marsterful  still.  Dey 
don'  break  nowhar  aout,  dem  kin'."  She  paused 
and  sipped  her  cofTee. 

*'  T'ank  de  Lawd,  dem  days  is  pas'  an'  gone  by," 
ejaculated  Josephus,  fervently. 

**  Yas,  yu  kin  du  dat.  Yo'  tink  yo'  mighty  ha'd 
used  w'en  yo'  kyan  vote  yo'  own  papah,  but,  laws, 
dat  ain'  nufifin'  like  de  ol'  times  'fo'  de  wah.  Yo' 
nuvah  rightly  had  no  'speunce  like  we  ol'-uns. 
VVe-uns  war  jes'  kep'  undah,  an'  bought  an'  sol' 
fom  one  nuddah.  I  kin  feel  de  ol'  feelinsf  rose 
up  in  my  t'roat  w'en  I  t'ink  on  dose  times,  an'  hit 
a  mighty  big  lump  tu  swallah.  Yo'-uns  wha'  war 
chillun  hab  a  mighty  heap  tu  t'ank  de  Lawd  fo'." 

*'  De  day  comin'  w'en  I 's  gwine  stan'  up  an' 
vote  free  as  any  white  man.  Nex'  time  dey  has 
a  votin'  I  ain'  gwine  stan'  an'  see  de  cullud  people 
knocked  raoun*.  Ef  any  man  pestah  me,  I 's  gib 
him  sump'n  dat  tek  him  cl'ar  aout  'n  dis  worl'  intu 
de  nex'  an'  I 's  gwine  raoust  up  de  res'  o'  de  cullud 
people  tu  du  de  same.  Dey's  one  cullud  man  tu 
ev'y  white  man  in  dis-yer  No'th  C'liny,  I  reckon." 


J  8      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Navv,  honey,  yo'  ain'  du  dat.  Yo'  lib  de  hones', 
squar'  Hfe,  an'  leab  de  Lawd  du  de  knockin'.  He 
did  n'  set  yp'  free,  fo'^no  sech  bloodsheddin'  an'  bad 
duin's.  Yo'  mighty  marsterful  dese  days.  'Pears 
Hke  yo'  been  cotchin'  Chas'  high-headed  way  an' 
mannah." 

''  I  ain'  cotch  nuffin'  f  om  Chas,  but  yo'  min',  de 
day  comin'  w'en  I  's  gwine  vote  fa'r  an'  no  man  tu 
hendah." 

"  Me'by  so,  but  hit  won'  be  none  o'  yo'  bringin'. 
Ef  hit  come,  de  Lawd  gwine  fotch  hit.  He  done  a 
heap  mo'  fo'  we-uns  dan  yo'  rightly  reckons,  yo' 
ain'  had  de  'speunce  like  we  ol'  ones.  He  may  du 
a  heap  mo',  but  yo'  kyan  fo'ce  de  Lawd,  hit  baoun* 
tu  come  in  his  own  time  an'  way,  onless  yo'-uns 
gits  tu  fo'cin'  an'  sheddin'  bro'dah's  blood.  I  'low 
we-all  don'  t'ink  on  dat  like  we  'd  aughtah,  dat  all 
we  f  om  de  whites'  tu  de  brackes'  stain  wid'  dat 
white  stain.  Dar  kyan  no  sich  stain  be  wash  aout 
wid  bro'dah's  blood.  Hit  a  ha'd  sayin',  but  hit 
de  troof.  Yandah  sits  Joe,  brackah  dan  a  burnt 
pine  knot,  but  daoun  undah  de  brack,  in  de  h'a't 
ob  him  lies  dat  white  stain,  an*  heah  sits  he's  ol' 
muddah,  de  white  stain  all  ovah  her,  but  way 
daoun,  in  de  core  like,  lies  de  black  streak,  like 
de  red  in  de  h'a't  o'  de  wine  apple.  Hit  dar  fom 
de  far  way  pas',  'fo'  I  war  bohned,  an'  'fo'  my  maw 
war  bohned.  Yo'  kyan  wipe  hit  aout  no  mo'  'n  yo' 
kin  wipe  dat  shadow  off  'n  de  wall  yandah." 

Josephus  rose,  and,  placing  his  two  great  hands 
on  the  top  of  the  door  casing,  leaned  his  head 
against  them  and  looked  moodily  out.  His  mother 
began  to  clear  away  their  few  dishes.     The  thump 


Chiaro-oscuro  g 

of  her  cane  seemed  to  have  lost  its  cheerful  sound. 
A  patient  weariness  settled  over  her  face  like  a 
cloud,  and  she  worked  in  silence. 

Suddenly  the  sun,  bursting  through  clouds, 
streamed  in  at  the  little  window,  glorifying  the 
cabin.  She  stood  full  in  its  light,  deftly  moving 
her  slender  hands.  The  quivering  water  in  the  pan 
cast  dancing  reflections  over  the  rough  ceiling  and 
walls.  Her  silvery  hair,  waving  and  crinkling  from 
her  forehead,  reflected  the  light,  making  a  halo  of 
glory  round  her  head.  She  made  a  fine  study  in 
chiaro-oscuro,  standing  thus  in  the  warm  glow, 
the  blackened  wall  and  smoky  old  fireplace  for  a 
background,  the  strong  outlines  of  her  face  and 
figure  in  the  rich  radiance  of  yellow  light,  which 
shaded  suddenly  away  into  the  surrounding  black- 
ness of  darkness,  —  a  Rembrandt  portrait  typifying 
her  life ;  the  shadowy  background  of  the  past  dark- 
ened by  slavery  and  its  attendant  evils,  her  wrinkled 
face  still  bearing  its  stoical  expression  of  patience, 
her  mind  still  blighted  with  ignorance,  yet  standing 
now  in  the  sunlight  of  freedom,  the  clouds  swept 
away  by  an  unseen  hand,  and  her  spirit  feeling  the 
warm  glow  and  expanding  to  a  realization  of  the 
true  meaning  of  aspiration  and  trust,  of  adoration 
and  peace,  ignorant,  yet  having  that  wisdom  which 
is  learned  not  from  books,  nor  from  the  tongues 
of  men,  but  from  the  soul's  temptations  and 
afflictions. 

"  No,  sonny,  yo*  ain'  had  de  'speunce  like  we. 
Dem  days  nuvah  gwine  come  back  no  mo',  t'ank  de 
Lawd  !  Yo'  don'  rightly  reckon  what-all  he  done  fo' 
yo'." 


1  o      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

She  began  putting  away  the  dishes,  using  one 
hand  while  she  held  the  cane  with  the  other.  "  I 
kin  see  dat  time  yit,  de  bitterness  and  de  heavy 
h'a't,  de  nights  o'  cryin',  an'  de  days  servin'  twell 
missus  'low  ef  I  keep  on  dat-a-way  she  gwine  sell 
me  off  South  C'liny  way,  'case  I  spile  my  eyes  fo'  de 
fine  stitchin'.  Dem  days  mars'r  in  Wash'nton,  an' 
she  run  de  place.  Hit  a  good  time  tu  fo'git,  mighty 
good  time  tu  fo'git,  but  'pears  lak  I  kyan  fo'git  no 
mo'  'n  I  kin  walk  'daout  dis-yer  cane.  Yo'-uns  wha' 
war  raised  sence  de  wall,  count  yo'  marcies,  an' 
t'ink  a  heap  on  dem  ar  'fo'  yo'  gits  tu  dis'beyin'  de 
comman's  o'  de  Lawd  wha'  set  yo'  free.  01'  Brudder 
Thomas  Ma'shall  used  tu  tell  de  niggahs  daoun 
tu  de  quatahs,  *  Ef  a  man  hit  yo'  on  one  cheek, 
tu'n  de  oddah,  an'  nuvah  lif  yo'  han'.'  'Pears 
like  hit  gitt'n'  late  ef  yo*  gwine  git  Jude  shod 
dis  ebenin'.  Time  'fo'  de  wah,  I  nebber  'lowed  tu 
lib  dis-yer  way,  in  my  own  cabin,  wid  no  missus 
tu  say  fotch  heah,  no'  go  dar,  wid  my  own  son 
tu  plant  de  co'n,  an'  dribe  he's  own  mule  team 
long  de  road." 

Josephus  grew  radiant  for  a  moment  with  kindly 
light.  *'  Yo'  kin  t'ank  de  Lawd,  an'  yo'  own  se'f  tu, 
I  reckon.  01'  missus  ain'  he'p  none  wha'  yo'  wo'k 
an'  strive  fo'  all  yo'  life,  no'  de  white  folkses  heah- 
bouts  neidah.  Yo'  git  dis  cabin  an'  Ian'  wo'kin' 
wid  de  right  han'  an'  de  lef  heah  an'  yandah,  I 's 
gwine  tek  right  smaht  keer  o'  hit  tu."  He  entered  a 
rough  shed  a  few  paces  away  as  he  spoke. 

"  Dat  de  trues'  wo'd  yo'  done  spoke  dis  mawnin'," 
she  called  from  the  cabin  doorway.  **  Yo'  min'  de 
co'n  patch,  an'  leab  'sputin'  wid  Chas  an'  de  white 


Chiaro-oscuro  1 1 

folkses.  Yo'  's  a  heap  bettah  off  dan  de  run  o' 
niggahs,  I  reckon." 

She  carefully  drew  the  coals  in  the  fireplace 
together,  covering  them  with  ashes,  and  proceeded 
to  fill  her  pipe  from  a  leather  pouch  hanging  by  a 
cord  from  a  nail  in  the  wall  near  the  chimney,  within 
easy  reach  from  her  chair. 

"  Yas,  I  reckon,"  she  soliloquized.  "  Did  n'  I  wash 
fo'  Miss  Mann  Torn  de  No'f  wha'  larnt  de  chillun 
daoun  tu  de  schule-haouse,  de  hul'  time  she  war  heah, 
an'  she  larn'  him  de  read'n'  an'  writin'  an'  figu'in'  tu 
pay  fo'  hit?  01'  Missus  'lowed  niggahs  could  n'  I'arn 
dem  ar.  Dem  No'f  Yankees  done  larn  sech  as  her 
heap  sence  dem  days." 

Again  her  thoughts  wandered  to  the  past.  With 
hands  clasped,  and  eyes  fixed  vacantly  on  the  hearth, 
she  leaned  forward,  musing  and  smoking  in  silence. 
Long  since  Josephus  had  clattered  away  on  old 
Jude's  back,  riding  without  saddle  or  bridle,  guiding 
the  animals  by  a  stroke  of  the  strap  by  which  Bona- 
parte was  led,  or  rather  ignominiously  dragged,  for 
he  scuffled  along  reluctantly  after  Jude,  carrying 
his  nose  high  in  the  air  at  the  pull  of  Josephus' 
powerful  arm. 

It  was  two  miles  in  a  straight  line  from  his  cabin 
to  the  village,  but  he  had  to  traverse  four,  up  hill  and 
down,  before  he  reached  the  blacksmith  shop,  which, 
with  two  rival  notion  stores,  —  in  one  of  which  was 
the  post-office,  —  a  lodging-house  with  saloon 
attachment,  and  diminutive  railway  station,  occupied 
the  main  street.  Also  the  place  was  provided  with 
three  churches,  a  schoolhouse,  and  a  huge  pile  of 
lumber,  which  it  was  fondly  hoped  would  sometime 


1 2     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

be  so  disposed  and  arranged  as  to  form  a  hotel 
for  refugees  from  a  more  rigorous  clime.  Having 
been  put  there  when  the  road  was  first  put  through, 
it  had  lain  undisturbed  ever  since,  owing  to  a  quarrel 
between  the  owners  of  the  land,  which  lay  back  of 
the  town,  and  comprised  the  whole  of  Blue  Hill, 
so  named  from  the  color  of  the  pines  by  which  it 
had  been  covered ;  now  it  bore  a  bare  and  stumpy 
appearance,  broken  by  low  scraggy  black  oaks, 
which  had  miraculously  sprung  into  existence  after 
the  pines  were  cleared  ofif. 

Josephus  kept  his  mules  to  their  fastest  gait,  a 
nimble  scamper,  swinging  the  strap  above  his  head, 
and  giving  an  occasional  admonitory  whoop,  but 
he  neither  whistled  nor  sang,  as  was  his  wont.  Being 
a  leading  voice  in  the  colored  choir,  he  took  evident 
pleasure  in  his  own  rich  mellow  tones,  but  to-day 
he  was  silent.  His  mother's  words  were  with  him. 
Halfway  to  the  village  a  stream  of  clear  water 
cut  across  the  road  and  wound  musically  along 
beside  it,  among  stones  and  boulders,  taking  its 
reckless  downward  course,  now  hidden  by  clumps 
of  laurel  and  rhododendron,  thick  vines  and  jut- 
ting, mossy  rocks,  now  laughing  in  open  spots 
and  flashing  back  the  sunlight,  now  resting  in 
some  deep,  shaded,  inaccessible  pool,  where  the 
fish  lie  in  hiding.  The  road,  winding  up,  up,  round 
the  steep  hillside,  ever  widened  the  distance  be- 
tween itself  and  the  stream  below,  until,  looking 
down  from  his  far  height  on  the  jolly  little  torrent, 
the  traveller  sees  its  flash  and  glitter,  but  hears 
not  its  brawling,  as  an  aged  man,  looking  back 
from  the  summit  of  his  years,  sees  only  the  bright- 


Chiaro-oscuro  1 3 

ness  of  his  youth,  but  hears  not  the  turmoil  of 
his  early  life. 

The  stream  was  not  bridged  where  it  crossed  the 
road ;  of  what  use,  where  people  preferred  driving 
through  the  sparkling  water,  on  its  hard,  pebbly 
bed?  In  the  fabled  days  *' befo'  de  wah,"  a  bridge 
had  spanned  it;  an  abutment  of  one  remained,  on 
which  rested  one  end  of  a  hewn  log  which  had 
been  felled  and  allowed  to  fall  across  for  the 
benefit  of  foot  travellers,  the  other  end  resting 
on  and  partly  attached  to  its  own  stump.  As 
Josephus  neared  this  spot,  a  young  negress,  trim 
and  straight  as  a  sapling,  was  crossing,  bearing 
on  her  head  a  good-sized  basket  covered  with  a 
white  cloth.  Instantly,  on  perceiving  her,  his  whole 
face  expanded. 

"  Howdy,  Miss  Gunn,  howdy !  "  he  exclaimed, 
vaulting  from  old  Jude's  back  onto  the  log  with  a 
spring  like  a  tiger's.  *'  Hit 's  a  right  smaht  time 
sence  we  seed  one  'nudder." 

"  I  declar',  Mistah  Ma'shall,  yo'  mighty  sudden. 
Yo'  put'  nigh  upsot  me  'n'  dese  heah  aigs  an'  buttah 
in  de  branch."  Putting  one  hand  up  to  steady  the 
basket,  she  slowly  turned  on  the  narrow  footway, 
facing  him  a  moment  with  a  half-defiant  look,  and 
then  moved  on. 

"  Ain'  yo'  nuvah  gwine  make  up  wid  me  no 
mo' "  ?  he  asked,  jerking  at  the  mule's  leading 
strap. 

"  Naw,"  she  returned,  skilfully  balancing  the 
basket;  "  I  don'  du  no  makin'  up  tu  yo',  no  mo'  'n 
I  'lowed  tu  roust  up  dis-yer  fuss.  Yo'  own  se'f 
done  dat." 


1 4     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Heah,  Gabr'ella,  gi'  me  dat  basket  to  ca'y  tu  de 
stoah  fo'  yo'.  I 's  hu'ted  'baouts  yo  'n'  Chas  sweet- 
hea'tin'.     I  aiii'  gwine  say  no  mo'." 

"As  yo'  like,  Mistah  Ma'shall,  I  nuvah  axed  yo' 
fo'  tu  say  nuffin',  noh  is  I  gwine  say  yo'  sha'n't,  noli 
is  I  gwine  tu  de  stoah."  She  seated  herself  on  the 
stump  and  rested  the  basket  at  her  feet.  ''  I  's 
take  a  contrac'  fo'  tu  supply  fo'  de  new  bo'din'- 
haouse," 

Leaving  the  mules  to  drink,  Josephus  crossed  and 
sat  by  her  side,  slapping  the  palm  of  one  hand  with 
the  end  of  the  strap,  while  he  eyed  her  furtively. 

"  Listen  heah,  Josephus,"  she  resumed,  "  s'pos'n' 
Chas  come  daoun  de  road  and  see  we  a-sittin'  heah 
side  one  'nuddah  dis-yer  way,  an'  den  go  talk  like  he 
t'ink  I  come  long  heah  dis  mawnin','case  I  t'ink  I 
gwine  see  yo'  heah.  Humph  !  p'r'aps  hit  my  fault 
yo'  come  clat'n'  daoun  de  hill.  P'r'aps  hit  my  fault 
Jude  got  dat  white  streak  daoun  her  nose.  Ef  yo' 
bides  'way  f'om  meetin',  an'  Bruddeh  Jefson  say 
]\Iistah  Chastahfield  Ma'shall  pleas'n  lead  in  de 
singin',  haow  dat  my  fault?" 

"  Ef  Chas  Stan'  long  side  Gabr'ella  Gunn,  he 
mighty  neah-sighted  all  o'  a  suddent,  kyan  see  dem 
ar  hymn  tune  words  rightly  'daout  he  look  mighty 
clost,  a  bowin'  daoun  tu  see,  an'  a-rosein'  up  tu 
hollah,  an'  a-bowin'  daoun  an'  a-rosein'  up  'g'in, 
rubbin'  dat  fine  greased  ha'r  ovah  Miss  Gunn's  bes' 
bunnit.  I  heah  tell  hit  done  look  like  hit  laid  in 
de  fryin'-pan  on  dat  side  long  nex'  whar  Chas 
Stan'."  His  great  frame  shook  with  inward  laughter, 
as,  with  head  dropped  sideways  and  broad  shoulders 
lifted,  he  continued  to  watch  her  face. 


Chiaro-oscuro  1 5 

"  Is  yo'  any  call  tu  wah  de  bunnit?  Ef  yo'  keeps 
way  f 'om  dat  side  Miss  Gunii  yo'  own  se'f,  hit  won' 
pestah  yo'  none."  With  face  perfectly  unmoved 
by  his  raillery,  she  slowly  fanned  herself  with  her 
sunbonnet.  The  spot  was  sheltered  by  the  hills 
from  the  wind,  and  they  sat,  as  negroes  love  to 
do,  in  the  full  glare  of  the  sun.  Presently  voices 
broke  the  silence,  and  two  people  approached  the 
opposite  side  of  the  stream,  walking  slowly  down 
the  hill. 

"  I  must  do  it,  grandfather."  The  tones  were 
decided,  and  the  girlish  voice  was  clear  and  sweet. 
**  She  is  better  here,  so  we  can't  take  her  back.  I 
am  sure  I  can  manage,  and  if  you  are  too  lonely 
and  homesick,  could  n't  you  spend  part  of  the 
year  with  Aunt  Anna?" 

''Impossible!  I  wouldn't  think  of  leaving  you 
alone  with  your  mother  in  this  wilderness.  Over 
half  the  population  are  negroes,  and  the  rest  seem 
to  be  afflicted  with  some  kind  of  lethargy.  You 
might  both  die  here,  and  no  one  be  the  wiser.  No, 
I  must  stay  by  you,  but  I  own  to  being  disappointed 
in  the  place." 

The  man  was  past  sixty,  though  he  appeared 
much  younger.  His  face  was  fine  and  keen,  and 
his  figure  tall  and  thin;  his  great-coat,  of  the  finest 
material,  hung  on  him  with  the  air  of  having  been 
long  worn,  and  well  kept.  Its  folds  followed  the 
lines  of  his  slender  figure,  and  draped  it  with  the 
easy  familiarity  of  old  friendship. 

"  I  know  you  are,  and  it  troubles  me.  I  don't 
care  for  myself.  At  any  rate,  if  mamma  gets  well 
here,  the  place  will  be  paradise  to  me.     We  are  n't 


1 6     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

half  settled  yet;  when  my  piano  comes,  you  will 
take  up  your  violin  again,  and  we  will  have  some 
of  the  good  old  times  together  once  more."  She 
stopped  abruptly  as  she  saw  her  grandfather 
hesitate.  "  Oh,  we  can  cross  on  that  log.  I  did 
it  yesterday.  It  is  quite  firm,  see?"  She  stepped 
lightly  up  and  held  out  her  hand. 

But  he  stood  still,  and  shook  his  head.  "  I  am 
growing  old,  Portia,  I  am  growing  old,"  he  said 
sadly. 

Josephus  rose  and  stretched  himself.  "  Hoi' 
dis-yer  strop,  Gabr'ella ;  I 's  gwine  holp  de  ol'  gen'l'- 
man  ovah."  She  took  the  leading  strap,  and  he 
sauntered  toward  the  hesitating  couple. 

"  Dis-yer  log  is  mighty  ticklesome  crossin',  sah," 
said  he,  with  a  gleaming  smile.  ''  Ef  yo'  tek  a  hoi' 
o'  my  han',  I 's  hoi'  yo'  stiddy  like." 

"  Yes,  grandfather,  do,"  said  the  girl.  **  It  will 
be  too  much  for  you  to  go  back  the  way  we  came." 
After  a  glance  at  the  negro  and  another  at  the 
brawling  water  below,  he  gave  his  thin,  nervous 
hand  into  Josephus'  strong  grasp,  and  was  soon 
on  the  other  side.  "  Thank  you,  my  good  fellow ; 
it  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  strong,"  he  said. 

"And  I  thank  you  too,"  said  the  girl,  looking 
brightly  up.  She  nodded  to  Gabr'ella  as  they 
passed  on. 

"  I  do  believe  that 's  the  one  who  is  to  bring  our 
eggs  and  butter,"  she  said  after  a  moment.  "  That 's 
the  way  with  every  one  about  here,  to  judge  by 
their  actions.  They  have  all  the  time  there  is  and 
a  little  more.  One  of  our  greatest  trials  will  be  to 
get  anything  done  unless  we  do  it  ourselves." 


Chiaro-oscuro  1 7 

*'  Yourself,  not  ourselves.  I  am  only  a  draft 
upon  your  nervous  energy.  Hav'  n't  you,  for  all 
your  wise  little  head  and  busy  little  hands,  think 
of  it,  dear,  undertaken  too  great  a  burden?  You 
have  not  gone  so  far  but  that  you  can  still  give 
it  up." 

**  I  have  thought  of  it  in  all  its  hideousness." 

"  The  Percys  will  spend  the  first  season,  —  that  is 
all  very  well,  very  pleasant;  but  you  might  get  in  a 
disagreeable  set,  and  then  there  is  the  chance  that, 
after  all  is  done,  the  house  furnished,  the  horses 
purchased,  and  help  engaged,  we  might  get  no 
boarders." 

"  We  won't  get  the  horses  until  we  see  if  they 
come,  —  the  boarders,  I  mean.  As  for  the  disagree- 
able set,  I  don't  take  them  for  companionship,  but 
because  we  must  have  money.  I  will  do  my  part 
as  well  as  I  can,  and  if  people  are  unpleasant,  will 
try  not  to  mind.  There  is  no  other  way  in  this 
place  of  earning  a  living ;  and  as  for  the  place,  well, 
if  it  were  not  for  the  inhabitants,  I  should  think 
myself  in  paradise.  Now  that  romantic  spot  where 
we  crossed  on  the  log,  no  wonder  they  wanted  to 
sit  there ;  only  they  are  so  used  to  the  wildness,  I 
suppose  they  have  no  idea  of  its  beauty.  Every- 
thing is  so  clean  here,  —  all  nature,  I  mean.  In 
mamma's  room  in  the  evening,  I  lean  out  of  the 
window  and  listen,  and  every  sound  seems  like  a 
musical  note.  But,  oh,  noisy,  dirty  Chicago !  I 
can't  forget  that  awful  night  when  we  thought  you 
dead,  and  had  such  a  time  getting  mamma  out  of 
the  burning  district.  It  comes  back  to  me  like  a 
nightmare.     When  I  think  of  it  I  don't  care  for  the 

2 


1 8      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

home  or  anything,  since  I  have  you  and  mamma 
safe."  She  paused  in  her  hurried  words,  and  her 
grandfather  switched  at  the  azalea  bushes  with 
his  cane. 

"  At  the  conservatory  I  had  my  piano  and  papa's 
portrait,  so  we  have  them  still." 

"Yes,  Portia,  we  have  you  to  thank  for  all  we 
have  left;  but  I  am  an  old  dog,  and  'It's  hard  to 
teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks.' " 

"  You  are  not  an  old  dog,  you  are  a  dear  young 
grandfather,"  she  contradicted.  "  You  know  you 
didn't  care  for  society;  how  often  you  only  went 
with  me  because  I  wished  it !  Here  you  won't  have 
to  do  that.  No  dress  affairs  to  bore  you,  no  operas, 
more 's  the  pity,  no  musicals  but  our  private 
rehearsals,  yours  and  mine,  and  then  here 's  the 
garden.  You  always  said  you  would  rather  dig  in 
the  ground  than  ride  in  a  carriage,  and  here  you 
have  it,  —  plenty  of  ground  and  no  carriage." 

The  anxious  look  faded  from  his  face,  and  he 
put  out  his  arm  and  drew  her  towards  him.  In 
silence  they  walked  on  like  a  pair  of  lovers.  The 
path  led  them  away  from  the  road  to  the  village 
through  a  wild  ravine,  past  a  mill-pond,  an  old  mill, 
and  a  rickety  bridge.  Nature  had  overrun  and 
adorned  what  the  hand  of  man  had  constructed  for 
purposes  of  utility  only,  and  the  place  was  a  per- 
fect wilderness  of  beauty.  They  paused  on  the 
bridge,  leaning  over  the  railing,  to  listen  to  the 
falling  water,  the  steady  burring  of  the  mill,  and 
the  wind  in  the  treetops.  The  drops  flashed  from 
the  great  paddles  of  the  clumsy  wheel  like  diamonds. 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  wheel  of  fortune  grinding 


Chiaro-oscuro  1 9 

out  my  destiny  along  with  the  negro's  corn,"  said 
Portia. 

A  very  black  negro  was  mounting  a  thin  white 
horse  to  ride  away.  They  had  watched  him  carry 
in  his  grist,  brought  in  two  ends  of  a  sack  hung 
over  the  back  of  the  horse.  Her  grandfather  shook 
his  head  sadly.  ''  It  makes  me  dizzy  to  watch  it ; 
let  us  walk  on,"  he  said. 

**  Grandpapa  Ridgeway,  we  have  gone  too  far ; 
why  did  you  let  me?"  she  cried  in  sudden 
contrition. 

**  No,  child,  I  am  not  tired,  but  I  wish  I  could 
look  into  your  future  and  know  what  it  is  to  be." 

"  Are  n't  you  willing  to  trust  that  to  my  Maker?  " 
she  asked  gayly,  though  with  a  quick  glance  in 
his  face.  She  darted  away  to  gather  a  cluster  of 
delicate  little  iris  that  grew  under  a  boulder.  "  Oh, 
you  sweet  things  !  How  lovely !  I  must  find  more 
for  mamma,"  and  she  did,  kicking  among  the  dead 
leaves  and  sticks.  The  road  led  them  through 
woodland  with  much  undergrowth,  interspersed 
with  huge  rocks  jutting  out  of  the  ground,  half- 
burnt  logs,  and  great  fallen  trees,  and  winding 
gradually  upward  emerged  on  an  open  level  space, 
fenced  in,  and  showing  signs  of  former  cultivation. 
It  was  an  old  tobacco  plantation.  The  road  here 
was  hard  and  smooth,  and  a  worn  footpath  ran 
along  one  side,  bordered  by  wild  flowers,  and 
brambly  shrubs  which  caught  at  Portia's  dress  as 
she  passed.  On  the  left  a  rail  fence  stretched  its 
long  line  of  triangles,  its  corners  filled  with  a  wild 
tangle  of  blackberry  bushes  and  laurels  and  azaleas, 
while    dogwoods    and    redbuds    and    other   flower- 


20     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

ing  trees  lifted  their  graceful  heads  above  the 
tangle,  and  swung  their  long  branches  over  the 
path.  Now  they  were  bare,  but  full,  bursting  buds 
gave  promise  of  glory  to  come.  On  the  right 
stretched  a  line  of  whitewashed  picket  fence.  The 
kindly  hand  of  Nature  had  not  yet  softened  its 
ugliness  enough  to  harmonize  it  with  herself.  On 
this  side,  halfway  up  the  slope,  which  an  Illinois 
farmer  would  call  a  hill,  stood  a  house,  so  situated 
as  to  overlook  the  plantation,  as  well  as  the  whole 
fertile  valley  of  which  it  was  a  part,  and  the  hills 
which  bound  it  stretching  away  in  receding  perspec- 
tive, green,  purple,  and  blue  in  the  far  distance, 
where  a  glimpse  of  a  gleaming  river  cut  its  way 
through  the   mountains. 

The  house  had  now  only  a  semblance  of  its 
former  grandeur.  The  ample  piazzas  had  a  warped 
appearance,  and  the  roof  lines  seemed  to  be  trying 
to  conform  themselves  to  the  undulating  sky-lines 
of  the  surrounding  hills.  From  its  evident  antiquity 
it  must  have  been  built  years  "  befo'  de  wah," 
and  solidly,  with  extensive  red-brick  masonry  un- 
derneath. Farther  up  the  slope,  on  each  side  and 
behind,  was  the  usual  litter  of  small  detached 
buildings  and  sheds  formerly  occupied  by  the  throng 
of  negro  domestics  that  used  to  overrun,  and  were 
considered  necessarv  to  a  Southern  home  of  af- 
fluence.  The  neglected  grounds  had  once  been 
skilfully  laid  out.  A  broad  drive  led  through  one 
arched  gateway  in  the  now  whitewashed  picket 
fence,  past  the  wide  porches  and  off  out  through 
another  arched  gateway  some  distance  away,  and 
directly  in  front  of  the  house  was  an  old  fountain 


Chiaro-oscuro  2i 

with  well-cemented  basin,  long  since  gone  dry. 
Giant  acacias  and  mimosas  drooped  slender  branches 
over  it,  and  tall  forest  trees  arched  the  drive,  while 
all  manner  of  ornamental  shrubbery  and  vines  ran 
riot  over  the  winding  paths  and  dry  garden  beds. 
Heavy  timber  in  great  variety  covered  the  broad 
slope  of  land  above  and  around,  up  to  the  sky-line, 
and  the  tinkle  of  cow-bells  was  he'ard  at  intervals  as 
the  patient  creatures  that  bore  them  browsed  among 
the  undergrowth. 

Mr.  Ridgeway  and  his  granddaughter  paused  as 
they  turned  to  enter  the  gateway.  He  looked  at 
the  neglected  home,  she  at  the  glowing  distance. 

*'  It  is  pathetic,  this  faded  grandeur,"  he  said. 
**  So  much  is  gone  forever,  eager  happy  lives,  whose 
ambitions  and  hopes  are  ended,  and  whose  labor 
is  ending  in  this  ruin,  desolation." 

Portia  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand.  "  Look 
at  the  other  side,  grandfather.  This  beautiful  little 
valley  in  the  sunlight,  it  is  lik\^  one  of  God's  smiles 
on  the  earth.  It  makes  me  think  of  his  wonderful 
promises  to  humanity,  so  sheltered  and  safe,  as  if  it 
lay  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand ;  and  off  there  beyond 
that  shining  line  of  the  river,  it  looks,  when  the  sun 
is  setting,  as  if  it  opened  into  heaven.  Of  course, 
the  ruined  home  is  pathetic,  as  you  say,  but  only 
because  it  represents  one  of  our  great  human 
failures,  don't  you  think?  They  failed  to  adjust 
themselves  to  divine  laws.  I  don't  mean  that  the 
people  w^ere  wicked,  but  the  home  was  founded 
on  a  curse,  and  this  is  the  end." 

*'  Perhaps,  Portia,  yes.  The  view  is  a  never-fail- 
ing delight,   certainly." 


• 


22      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

**  This  whitewashed  fence  appeals  more  to  me. 
It  speaks  of  one  poor  old  soul's  faithfulness  to 
his  master's  memory  and  the  past  dignity  of  the 
family.  Alexander  did  it ;  he  told  me  '01'  mars'r 
al'us  kep'  t'ings  mighty  fine  an'  tidy.  He  done 
hyahd  folkses  f'om  de  No'f  comin'  an'  'lowed  he  'd 
fix  hit  up  li'l'  fo'  ol'  mars'r's  sake.'  So  he  white- 
washed the  fence  and  arches,  and  then  put  what 
lime  he  had  left  on  his  little  cabin.  It  went  half- 
way round.  The  back  and  one  side  are  bare. 
Poor  fellow,  he  was  so  proud  of  it !  " 

"  Yes,  poor  old  fellow,  but  it  was  well  the  lime 
gave  out  when  it  did,  or  he  would  have  begun  on 
the  house.  There  is  your  mother.  Well,  Portia,  do 
your  own  way.  It  is  usually  a  good  way.  I  will 
help  all  in  my  power,  but  don't  attempt  too  much, 
child." 

A  sHght,  delicate  woman  in  black,  wrapped  in  a 
soft  white  shawl,  emerged  from  the  doorway  as  he 
spoke.     Portia  ran  lightly  up  the  drive  to  meet  her. 

'*  We  have  had  such  a  good  time  together,  mamma 
deary,"  she  cried,  '*  only  never  before  in  such  a  per- 
fectly charming  place.  The  walks  around  here  are 
as  romantic  as  they  are  in  books.  I  shall  be  so  glad 
when  you  can  go  too."  She  gathered  the  fleecy 
shawl  close  under  her  mother's  chin,  and  kissed  her 
on  one  cheek,  then  on  the  other.  "  See  these  little 
iris.  I  found  them  growing  along  by  the  roadside, 
just  anywhere." 

"  Oh,  they  are  lovely,  and  fragrant  too,"  said  her 
mother,  taking  the  cluster  from  Portia's  warm,  plump 
hand  into  both  her  own  thin,  cold  ones,  and  the 
three  generations  entered  this  old  Southern  home 


Chiaro-oscuro  23 

together.  The  father  and  daughter  bore  a  strong 
resemblance  to  each  other,  but  the  granddaughter 
was  of  a  quite  different  type. 

Within,  the  mansion  presented  a  less  neglected 
and  more  homelike  aspect  than  without,  owing  to 
the  continued  gracious  and  home-making  presence 
for  the  last  two  or  three  months  of  Portia  Van 
Ostade.  This  rambling  old  house,  with  twenty 
acres  of  the  wooded  hillside,  and  nine  hundred 
dollars  in  her  own  right,  had  been  bequeathed  to 
her  by  her  grand-uncle,  Oscar  Van  Ostade.  A 
strange  bequest  it  had  seemed  to  the  family  at  the 
time.  It  was  now  their  sole  dependence.  "  Portia's 
white  elephant,"  they  had  called  it,  and  the  question 
arose,  what  could  she  do  with  it?  It  coukl  never  be 
sold  ;  no  one  would  go  to  live  in  that  far-away  place. 
"  We  will  just  let  it  lie,"  said  Grandfather  Ridgeway, 
good-humoredly ;  ''the  interest  on  the  money  will 
pay  the  taxes,  and  keep  it  in  repair,"  and  he  put  the 
deed  away  among  his  private  papers.  Four  years 
afterwards  the  great  treasure-box  was  exhumed  from 
a  huge  heap  of  debris,  and  the  deed  taken  from  it,  a 
woful  bit  of  charred  parchment. 

To-day,  as  they  entered  the  sitting-room,  a  wood 
fire  burned  brightly  in  the  huge  red-brick  fireplace. 

*'Ah,  this  is  pleasant,"  said  Mr.  Ridgeway;  ''it 
makes  a  cheerful  room  of  this,  after  all." 

"  Now,  grandfather,"  said  Portia,  reproachfully, 
"  are  n't  you  glad  we  have  my  '  white  elephant '  to 
come  to?  But  I  know  you  said  that  'after  all' 
because  you  had  such  a  forlorn  time  trying  to  man- 
age here  those  first  few  weeks  all  alone,  and  these 
great  piazzas  keep  out  the  sun  so." 


24     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  I  am  an  ungrateful  wretch,  I  fear,"  he  repHed ; 
**  your  grand-uncle  Oscar  must  have  had  a  prophetic 
soul."  He  dropped  wearily  into  his  armchair  and, 
leaning  back,  closed  his  eyes.  The  two  women 
looked  lovingly  at  him,  and  exchanged  glances. 

Mrs.  Van  Ostade  put  the  flowers  in  water  and 
then  lay  down  on  the  couch.  Portia  seated  herself 
in  a  low  rocker  and  began  sewing  on  some  blue 
denim  that  lay  piled  on  a  chair  before  her.  She 
was  making  portieres  for  one  of  the  upper  rooms. 
They  remained  silent  for  some  time,  and  then  began 
chatting  quietly  about  the  future. 

*'  You  must  not  give  up  your  music  even  if  we  are 
living  an  isolated  life.  It  may  not  always  be  so ;  it 
must  not,"  said  her  mother. 

"  When  I  saw  you  really  on  the  road  to  recovery, 
mamma,"  Portia  laid  a  broad  hem  and  creased  it  in 
place  with  a  firm  pressure  of  her  thumb,  "I  —  I 
advertised  for  boarders.  Don't,  mamma;  such  a 
look  of  horror  makes  me  shiver.  I  knew  you  would 
call  me  crazy,  but  think,  here  I  am,  young,  strong, 
and  poor.  Desperately  poor  we  shall  be.  When 
the  little  sum  we  have  now  is  gone,  we  shall  have 
nothing  at  all  to  live  on  even  from  day  to  day,  and 
grandpapa  won't  hear  of  our  touching  the  little 
legacy  that  came  to  me  with  this  property,  and  if 
we  did  how  short  a  time  it  would  last !  I  have 
simply  faced  the  fact.  Either  I  must  go  away  from 
you  both  to  earn  for  us  all,  or  you  must  live  in 
some  stuffy  city  while  I  teach,  for  I  won't  be  de- 
pendent on  relatives,  and  you  would  not  have  me. 
If  I  make  a  profession  of  my  music,  I  must  travel, 
and  we  should  be  parted.     This  surely  is  best." 


Chiaro-oscuro  25 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  vehemently,  her  hands 
dropped  passively  in  her  lap,  her  face  averted,  and 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  dry  fountain  without.  There 
the  sun  shone  warmly.  The  leafless  trees  cast  sharp 
shadows  on  the  road  and  the  piazza  floor.  Two 
bright  little  green  lizards  darted  over  the  gray  old 
stone  edge  of  the  fountain,  overgrown  in  places 
with  woodbine  which  quivered  in  the  breeze.  Her 
grandfather  shifted  his  position  with  a  little  nervous 
movement,  but  did  not  open  his  eyes.  Portia,  turn- 
ing suddenly,  saw  two  tears  course  down  her  mother's 
pale  cheeks,  which  were  quickly  wiped  away.  In- 
stantly she  was  on  her  knees  with  her  arms  around 
the  little  woman,  cuddling  her,  comforting  her,  with 
a  woman's  divination  using  arguments  most  potent 
to  dispel  the  sorrowful  foreboding  she  knew  was  the 
cause  of  them. 

"  Why,"  she  laughed  in  a  smothered  way,  hiding 
her  face  in  her  mother's  neck,  *'  before  our  various 
calamities,  as  you  call  them,  I  thought  I  was  the 
happiest  girl  in  existence.  I  did  n't  know  what 
happiness  was  then.  I  lived  in  a  misty  halo  of  sen- 
timentalism,  dreaming  of  living  for  art  alone,  and 
pure  devotion  to  a  sort  of  a  something  or  other,  I 
guess  I  did  n't  know  what;  and  people  were  entirely 
left  out,  and  you,  httle  mamma,  were  letting  me 
think  it  was  noble,  and  all  that.  Listen,  mamma, 
that  awful  fire  has  swept  away  all  that  nonsense 
along  with  our  wealth,  and  has  let  a  little  real  light 
into  my  befogged  brain.  I  don't  say  this  just  to 
comfort  you ;  I  never  was  so  truly  happy  as  I  am 
now,  here,  planning  for  us  all,  since  you  began  to 
recover.     I  never  had  so  many  lovely  things  all  to 


l6      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

myself  before,  —  you  and  grandpapa,  and  all  nature, 
mountains,  streams,  woods,  and  wonderful  wild 
places ;  how  I  love  them !  "  She  lifted  her  head 
and  drew  in  her  breath  as  if  she  were  out  in  the 
woods  breathing   the  freshness  and  fragrance. 

Her  mother  drew  her  fingers  through  Portia's 
fluffy  hair.  '*  But  when  your  boarders  come,  you 
won't  have  it  all  to  yourself  any  more,  and  that 
money  —  " 

**  Don't  talk  about  the  money.  I  must  do  things 
right,  or  not  at  all.  The  fountain  must  be  set  going, 
and  horses  and  carriage  bought.  I  must  train 
some  of  the  most  hopeful  material  about  me  into 
good  housemaids  to  help  Maggie,  dear  soul.  Help 
costs  but  little,  and  I  shall  keep  all  I  need.  I  have 
thought  it  all  out,  mamma.  Mr.  Hacket  will  keep 
me  in  supplies  sent  daily  from  Asheville.  They 
have  very  good  markets  there,  Mr.  Clark  tells  me." 

''Who  is  he?" 

"  He  is  the  station  agent  here,  and  is  a  Northern 
man.     He  seems  to  have  some  genuine  refinement." 

"Are  there  none  of  the  real  old  Southern  families 
here  who  have  culture?  " 

**  Yes,  but  they  are  so  far  apart,  and  seem  to  be 
so  dispirited.  I  have  n't  had  a  chance  to  meet  them 
yet.  You  are  not  vexed,  mamma,  that  I  did  n't  ask 
you?  I  couldn't;  you  were  too  ill.  You  are  not 
strong  enough  now."    - 

"  How  could  I  be  vexed,  deary?  Yet  I  always 
said,  if  I  ever  should  be  thrown  on  my  own  resources, 
I  never  would  resort  to  keeping  boarders." 

"  My  advertisements  have  been  answered,  mamma. 
Mrs.  Percy  is  coming  first.     She  put  the  idea  in  my 


Chiaro-oscuro  27 

head,  writing  me  and  begging  to  come ;  I  wrote  her 
I  should  have  her  to  practise  on." 

**  She  is  lovely  and  lovable.  Well,  as  you  say, 
something  must  be  done.  Your  head  is  like  your 
father's,  I  can  trust  it;  still,  don't  be  too  sanguine, 
and  think.  But  there,  it  is  all  right ;  think  what 
you  please,  do  what  you  please.  Your  sunny 
nature  is  your  safety,  and  action  is  always  better 
than  foreboding." 

Mr.  Ridgeway  rose,  and  paced  the  floor,  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  and  his  head  drooped  forward. 
He  was  about  to  speak,  when  a  light  tap  was  heard 
at  the  door,  and  the  same  instant  a  woman  of  thirty- 
eight  or  forty  years,  with  red  cheeks,  dark  blue 
eyes,  and  heavy  black  hair,  put  her  head  into  the 
room. 

*'  Miss  Porrtia,  arre  ye's  herre?  There's  a  black 
nagur  gurrel  out  by,  settin'  on  me  clane  chair,  wid 
'er  two  feet  on  me  clane  flurre,  an'  be  the  powers, 
whin  I  would  tell  'er  ye's  were  out  waalkin'  wid  yer 
gran'fetherr  an'  it's  takin'  'ersilf  aff  she'd  betherr 
be,  did  n't  she  jist  pit  'er  basket  doun,  an'  'ersilf  the 
same,  an'  'It's  stayin'  herre  I'll  be,'  sez  she,  'fur 
I  seed  the  young  leddy  an'  the  ould  jintleman 
down  bi  the  brranch  yanderr,'  sez  she.  '  Bi  phwat 
brranch?  '  sez  I,  '  an'  surre  w^harre  else  'ould  they  be,' 
sez  I,  '  fer  the  woods  is  full  of  thim,'  sez  I,  an'  there 
she  be  's  this  minut,  an'  she  that  black  ye's  'ould 
smootch  yer  two  hands  wid  the  touch  av  'er." 

"  That 's  the  one  we  passed,  then."  Portia  rose 
quickly.  *'  I  slandered  her,  for  she  got  here  before 
us.  Never  mind,  Maggie,  the  black  won't  come  off,, 
you  know  that." 


2  8      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

'*  More  's  the  pity,  thin,"  said  Maggie  as  they  dis- 
appeared together. 

"  The  woods  is  full  of  them,"  said  Mr.  Ridgeway, 
smiling.     "  Well  done,  Maggie." 

*'  Good  faithful  soul !  Portia  has  her  strong  Irish 
arm  to  lean  on,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Ostade. 

"  I  was  surprised  when  Maggie  announced  her 
intention  of  coming  with  us,"  he  replied. 

•*  I  was  not;  it  would  have  broken  her  heart  if 
Portia  had  left  her.  She  has  loved  Portia  since  she 
was  a  baby,  and  seems  to  think  she  is  a  child  still. 
She  is  in  years,  yet  I  have  given  every  care  into  her 
hands ;  she  has  gathered  up  the  reins  which  fell  from 
my  useless  ones.  But,  oh,  I  hate  to  see  that  money 
touched." 

"  The  money  is  nothing,  Clara.  The  pity  is  deeper 
than  that.  What  is  her  ability  worth  here?  What 
can  she  look  forward  to?  Where  will  it  end?  We 
have  entered  a  narrow  lane  leading  to  a  blank  wall, 
with  all  the  loveliest  things  of  life,  which  should  be 
hers,  on  the  other  side.  Here  I  am  stranded,  too  old 
to  begin  again ;  it  —  it  is  —  What  have  we  come  to? 
I  can  scarcely  hold  up  my  head  under  it." 

**  No,  father,  you  were  brought  to  this,  you  did  n't 
come  to  it.  We  must  be  watchful  of  her,  and  wait. 
A  few  years  of  struggle  may  only  broaden  and 
deepen  her  character.  She  has  only  lost  worldly 
prospects  and  wealth  as  yet ;  she  is  heart  whole." 

A  wide  hall  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  house, 
opening  at  either  end  on  immense  piazzas.  Portia 
and  Maggie  traversed  its  whole  length,  passed  out 
through  the  farther  door,  and  entered  the  house 
again  at  the  far  end  of  the  back  piazza,  where  a  long 


Chiaro-oscuro  29 

ell  addition  to  the  main  part  meandered  a  little  dis- 
tance up  the  hill,  forming  a  court-like  square,  open 
and  sunny  now,  but  later  In  the  season  shaded  by  a 
spreading,  magnificent  old  locust-tree.  This  room 
In  the  ell  was  Maggie's  own  sitting-room,  low, 
pleasant,  and  spotlessly  clean.  It  was  the  pride  of 
her  big  Irish  heart.  Here  sat  the  young  negress 
awaiting  them. 


CHAPTER  n 

THE  RETURN  TO  OLD  SCENES  AND 
ACQUAINTANCES 

THE  sun  was  setting.  Its  farewell  glance  threw 
a  celestial  glory  over  Patterson.  The  dingy 
station,  the  ugly  boarding-house  with  false  front, 
the  store  and  barber's  pole  before  it,  the  rude  black- 
smith shed  with  creaking  sign  on  which  was  painted 
an  impossible  horse,  all  were  bathed  in  the  same 
golden  light  that  made  splendid  God's  handiwork. 
The  hills,  the  mountains,  rising  peak  above  peak, 
and  the  wonderful  rocks,  each  from  its  own  point 
of  vantage  sent  back  toward  its  Creator  a  portion  of 
the  radiance  streaming  over  it.  The  miracle  of  the 
spring  was  being  enacted  anew  in  and  all  about 
Patterson.  Trees  stiffened  and  grew  strong  with 
sweet  sap  filling  their  veins,  — -  tender  greens  of 
hillside  and  woodland  growing  daily  deeper  and 
richer;  all  the  charming  phalanx  of  mountain 
shrubbery  bursting  into  bewildering  profusion  of 
bloom ;  ugly  things  becoming  hidden  by  the 
young  greenness  of  the  earth ;  old  stumps  by  the 
roadside,  decaying  logs,  and  last  year's  dead  leaves 
slowly,  by  their  own  death,  nourishing  the  wild 
tangle  of  fragrance  and  color  that  covered  them, 
being  thus,  in  the  lavish  provision  of  nature,  them- 
selves resurrected.  The  mountain  streams  laughed 
loudly  in  their  opulence. 

30 


..•-'V 


Return  to  Old  Scenes  31 

Up  the  long  slope  to  the  southwest  crept  the 
incoming  mail-train,  now  seen  turning  an  outward 
curve,  now  hidden  by  an  intervening  hill,  —  a  live 
little,  consequential  demon,  impudently  puffing  its 
hot  breath  toward  heaven,  trailing  after  it  a  long 
line  of  vaporous  smoke,  as  if  vainly  trying  to  ob- 
scure the  gorgeous  pageantry  of  the  western  sky, 
in  zealous  self-assertiveness.  Crawling  cautiously 
over  the  long  dizzy  trestle,  then  darting  on  again, 
it  neared  the  little  station,  gave  two  demoniacal 
shrieks  that  were  caught  up  by  the  echoes  of  the 
hills,  and  paused  a  moment  with  insistent  hissing 
while  it  emitted  one  traveller,  a  pair  of  completely 
collapsed  mail-bags,  and  a  trunk  which  was  vio- 
lently hurled  to  the  platform,  as  if  those  who  handled 
it  were  trying  to  bestow  on  one  poor  box  all  the 
rough  usage  they  would  have  given  other  baggage 
had   they  had  it. 

The  traveller,  a  young  man,  turned  with  a  quick 
shrug  as  his  trunk  struck  the  platform  ;  the  little 
train  impatiently  bustled  off.  A  lank,  leather- 
colored,  disconsolate-looking  mail-agent  dawdled 
away  with  the  collapsed  bags,  and  the  traveller  was 
left  sole  mark  for  twenty  or  more  pairs  of  eyes 
belonging  to  as  many  professional  loungers  of  Pat- 
terson, who  had  been  waiting  for  two  mortal  hours, 
with  a  patience  born  of  inherited  lassitude,  for  the 
evening  mail,  although  they  were  well  aware  it  was 
not  due  until  six-thirty,  and  was  usually  late  at  that. 

Apparently  unaware  of  their  languid  yet  critical 
scrutiny,  he  walked  around  a  moment,  taking  a 
general  survey  of  the  surroundings,  then  disap- 
peared   in   the    little    hole    of  a  depot  and    began 


32     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

talking  with  the  station-agent.  The  loungers  ceased 
supporting  their  lank  forms  against  the  buildings 
opposite  and  gathered  in  knots,  spitting  tobacco 
juice  and  speculating  as  to  the  probable  business  of 
the  stranger,  his  destination,  and  other  questions 
concerning  him,  hard  to  answer  without  positive 
knowledge,  but  affording  these  meditative  loungers 
endless  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  their  pecu- 
liar function.  Presently  the  object  of  their  curiosity 
appeared,  and  crossing  the  track  with  alert  step, 
came  toward  them.  His  hat  was  set  a  little  back, 
and  his  forehead,  fair  and  open,  showed  a  slight 
red  line  where  it  had  pressed.  His  hair,  damp  with 
perspiration,  was  soft  and  curling  underneath  it. 
He  approached  one  of  the  groups,  and  held  out  his 
hand  with  a  pleasant  smile  to  a  powerfully  built 
man,  lean  as  Pharaoh's  lean  kine. 

"  Mr.  Patterson,"  he  said.  The  individual  ad- 
dressed started  as  if  he  were  a  huge  dried  specimen, 
well  wired,  on  which  the  traveller  was  experiment- 
ing, and  which  was  electrified  and  set  into  spas- 
modic, irresistible  motion  by  the  touch  of  that 
human  magnet.  His  face  expanded  until  the  radi- 
ating wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes  deepened 
into  folds  and  creases.  He  caught  at  the  top  of 
his  trousers,  jerking  them  violently  up,  grasped  the 
hand  extended  to  him  in  both  his  own,  and  moved 
it  vigorously  up  and  down. 

"  Why !  Bless  my  soul,  boy !  GenTmen,  bless 
my  soul!  Ef  here  ain't  ol'.Gen'l  Marshall  himself 
come  tu  life  again.     Gen'l'rpen,  shore  'nuff." 

"  Wall  now,  Mr.  Marshall,  the  sight  of  ye  is  good 
foh  sore  eyes,"  said  another. 


Return  to  Old  Scenes  33 

"  Sho'ly,  we  ah  right  glad  tu  see  yu,"  said  a 
small  man,  trying  to  reach  over  taller  ones  for  a 
hand-shake.  There  was  instant  recognition  of  him 
on  all  sides.  Only  a  few  new-comers  stood  aloof, 
smilingly  looking  on. 

**  John  Marshall  did  ye  say?  Jes'  give  me  a  look 
at  'im  now.  I  'd  give  my  eyes,  what  they  is  lef  of 
'em,  foil  a  look  at  Gen'l  Marshall's  boy."  The 
speaker,  an  old  man,  limped  from  behind  the 
counter  of  the  notion  store  where  he  had  been 
busied  with  a  customer. 

"  Here  he  is,  Mr.  Hackett,  the  same  boy  who 
used  to  run  his  hounds  through  your  cotton-fields 
after  rabbits.  What  a  plague  he  must  have  been 
to  you  !  "  answered  the  young  man,  turning  quickly. 
He  was  shaking  hands  with  one  and  another,  calling 
each  by  name. 

"  Ye  don't  seem  to  forgit  none  of  us,"  said  one. 

*'  Oh,  no.     You  have  changed  very  little." 

"  You  '11  see  changes  'nufif,  I  reckon,  in  them  'at 
was  small  fry  when  ye  lef." 

"  He  only  needs  tu  look  at  his  se'f  tu  know  that. 
Ye  were  only  a  striplin'  when  ye  lef,  and  look  at  ye 
now,  bless  ye,  yer  own  father  over  again." 

"  I  knew  him,"  said  the  old  man,  —  *'  boy  an*  man 
I  knew  him.  He  saved  my  life  jes'  befoah  he  lost 
his  own.  The  Unions  was  too  strong  foh  us,  the 
gen'l  was  orderin'  a  retreat,  when  a  minie  bullet 
tore  th'ough  this  leg,  and  down  I  went  right  in  the 
path  of  the  cav'lry.  Youah  father  reined  up,  and 
says  he,  '  Hackett,  give  me  yeh  hand.'  I  tell  ye 
I  grabbed  foh  'im  like  despair.  He  hauled  me  over 
the  horse  in  front  of  him,  and  took  me  to  the  shade 
3 


34     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

of  a  big  hick'ry  and  give  me  his  water-flask,  and 
says  he,  '  There,  He  low.  They  'U  come  foh  th' 
wounded  a'terwards ;'  and  there  he  was  lying  with 
the  dead  ten  minutes  later,  was  yeh  father." 

"  Thank  you  for  telling  me  that.  My  father  was 
my  hero.  You  will  tell  me  more  of  him  sometime?" 

"We  kin  all  take  a  turn  at  that,"  said  the  little 
man. 

"  Gen'l'men,"  said  fat  Mr.  Budd,  putting  his  hand 
in  his  pockets  and  turning  puffily  to  address  the 
crowd,  ''  ah  we-all  treating  the  young  squire  jes' 
right?  Walk  in  here  an'  take  a  drink  all  roun'.  I  '11 
Stan'  treat  foh  th'  crowd,  gen'l'men,  in  honoh  of 
young  Squire  John  Marshall's  return." 

"Naou,  I  reckon  yu  ah  'bout  right  thar,  cunnel," 
acquiesced  half  a  dozen,  with  languid  alacrity. 

The  sun  had  entirely  disappeared,  leaving  the 
earth  wrapped  in  still  shadows  of  softly  deepening 
blues  and  grays.  The  air  of  a  spring  evening  in 
the  mountains,  delicious  with  subtle,  delicate  odors, 
swept  past  them  all,  and  gently  lifted  John  Mar- 
shall's hair.  He  was  thinking  of  his  father.  Look- 
ing into  the  dirty  saloon,  a  disgust  seized  him  as 
he  imagined  himself  there,  drinking  corn  whiskey 
with  these  tobacco-saturated  men.  Old  neighbors 
though  they  were,  he  knew  them  only  through 
boyish  recollections,  as  friends  by  force  of  circum- 
stances, not  of  his  father's  own  choosing.  Looking 
into  their  faces,  kindled  for  him  with  kindly  light, 
he  shrank  from  giving  offence,  yet  go  in  there  he 
could  not.  He  must  do  neither.  His  thoughts 
flew  rapidly  as  he  wiped  the  crown  of  his  hat  with 
his  handkerchief.     He  had  kindly  feeling  for  them 


Return  to  Old  Scenes  35 

all,  for  some  even  respect,  yet  there  was  that  in 
himself  which  raised  a  barrier  between  him  and 
them  they  might  not  cross.  To  drink  with  them 
and  treat  in  return,  would  secure  their  friendship. 
To  refuse  might  make  some  of  them  his  lasting 
enemies.  Should  he  pay  for  their  drinks  and 
excuse  himself?  His  hand  wandered  to  his  pocket. 
He  had  never  been  impelled  to  do  such  a  thing 
before  in  exactly  this  way.  No,  the  whole  thing 
was  disgusting,  he  would  risk  it. 

His  deliberation  was  but  for  a  moment.  "  Your 
reception  does  me  good,  gentlemen.  A  young 
man  could  n't  ask  better  of  his  father's  old  neigh- 
bors than  the  greeting  you  have  given  me.  I  am 
here  to  look  after  my  mother's  affairs,  and  will  see 
you  often,  I  hope,  when  we  can  talk  over  old  times, 
but  now  I  can't  accept  Mr.  Budd's  invitation.  I  am 
as  hungry  as  if  I  had  just  returned  from  a  coon 
hunt,  so  I  '11  bid  you  all  good-evening,  and  many 
thanks  for  your  kindness."  He  took  up  his  valise, 
and  had  entered  the  boarding-house  before  they 
realized  that  he  was  gone,  and  if  they  drank  to 
honor  his  return  they  must  do  so  without  him. 
Since  Budd's  invitation  was  not  repeated,  they 
chose  not  to  do  so. 

"  Young  squire  is  mighty  sudden,'*  said  that 
individual. 

"  He  's  not  changed  much,  I  reckon,  alius  was 
quick  'nd  clever  as  a  boy,"  said  Patterson,  pulling 
at  the  string  of  a  dirty  tobacco  pouch.  He  took 
from  it  a  portion  of  the  contents,  which  hung  from 
his  thumb  and  forefinger  stringily,  like  a  limp 
little  dead  mouse,  and  dropping  his  lower  jaw  put 


36      when  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

the  brown  tuft  in  the  cavern  thus  formed.  When 
his  mouth  was  again  ready  for  words,  some  of  his 
companions  had  dropped  into  the  saloon,  others 
were  untying  their  horses,  and  all  were  talking  of 
young  John  Marshall,  and  making  conjectures  con- 
cerning him  and  his  mother,  whom  they  had  not 
even  asked  after,  partly  from  delicacy,  as  they  did 
not  know  whether  she  were  living  or  dead. 

Mr.  Hackett  was  wrapping  up  a  card  of  white 
porcelain  buttons  for  a  stout  colored  woman.  "  Who 
was  dat  ah  man  I  seed  yu  all  talkin'  tu  as  I  come 
up?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  was  old  General  Marshall's  son,  Mr.  John 
Marshall." 

"  Laws  naow,  yu  doan'  say  !  I  nevah  knowed  de 
boy.  He 's  growed  tu  putty  foh  a  man.  I  kin 
'membah  him  right  well,  ol'  gen'l  uset  tu  be  my 
mars'r.  Cl'issy,  she'd  give  her  eyes  tu  see  him. 
I  nuvah  seed  no  body  grieve  like  she  done  grieve 
foh  dat  boy.  Come  on,  Jess."  She  took  the  hand  of 
a  fat,  round-eyed  little  black  boy  and  ambled  away. 

When  John  entered  the  dusty  little  parlor  of  the 
boarding-house,  he  found  Hanford  Clark,  the  station- 
agent,  waiting  for  him. 

"  They  have  a  room  for  me?  Thank  you.  I  have 
had  a  narrow  escape.  I  might  have  been  in  this 
hole  next  door  drinking  corn  whiskey,  but  I  refused 
the  treat,  preferring  a  retreat." 

*' '  The  Asylum  for  Aged  and  Decayed  Punsters  '  is 
near,  did  you  know?  "  said  his  friend.  *'  I  shall  take 
you  to  it  for  a  bad  case  to-morrow." 

"  I  am  content,  most  noble  Hanford ;  yet  prithee 
tell  me,  are  poor  travellers  fed  as  well  as  housed  in 


Return  to  Old  Scenes  37 

this  secluded  wayside  inn?  If  not,  then  I  must  needs 
eat  thee,  since  I  no  longer  can  endure  this  fast,  and 
since,  forsooth,  a  poor  and  meagre  meal  were  better 
than  no  meal  at  all." 

"  Nay,  gracious  John,  for  soon  you  will  be  fed 
with  corn  meal.  Other  than  corn  meal  is  no*  meal, 
and  on  it  shall  you  feed  three  meals  a  day,  like  any 
other  hog,  until  your  soul  shall  utter  this  wild  cry, 
'  No  meal  for  me  to-day,  thanks,  no,  no  meal.'  " 

"  '  Et  tu,  Bruti?  '  In  vulgar  parlance,  are  you  also 
reduced  to  making  puns?  " 

''  It's  catching.  Well,  old  man,  I  ordered  chicken 
to  be  served  quickly  (as  it  can  be  caught,  killed, 
dressed,  and  cooked),  hot  corn  bread,  and  a  glass  of 
milk.  Black  coffee  at  night  is  unhygienic.  If  you 
sleep  after  their  hot  bread  and  hog's  lard,  you  may 
have  it  for  breakfast." 

They  were  in  the  unlighted  parlor,  their  chairs 
tilted  against  the  casing  of  the  open  windows, 
through  which  the  sweet,  cool  air  —  the  only  lux- 
ury the  place  afforded  —  was  gently  blowing. 
Presently  a  negro  boy  entered  carrying  an  un- 
shaded kerosene  lamp,  which  he  deposited  on  the 
dusty  table. 

'*  De  gen'l'man's  suppah  's  ready,"  said  he. 

John  rose  to  follow.  His  friend  looked  at  his 
watch.  "  I  '11  have  your  trunk  brought  over  and 
landed  in  your  room,  and  join  you  soon,"  he  said. 

*'  Hanford,  you  are  the  same  kind,  thoughtful 
fellow  you  were  five  years  ago." 

The  agent  caught  the  young  man's  shoulder  and 
turning  him  about,  looked  in  his  face.  He  was  a 
trifle  older,  and  taller,  and  the  smile  with  which  he 


38      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

regarded  him  was  almost  fatherly.  "  I  have  n't  told 
one  of  these  fellows  here  that  I  ever  knew  you,"  said 
he,  *•  so  keep  mum."  A  look  of  surprise  flashed 
into  Marsliall's  face.  '*  It's  all  right,  old  man,  we  '11 
have  a  good  chat  as  soon  as  I  look  after  your  trunk. 
I  'm  riot  due  at  the  station  for  forty  minutes." 

John  swallowed  his  supper,  with  more  impatience 
than  relish.  Although  the  milk  was  sweet  and  good, 
the  corn  bread  was  soggy,  the  chicken  tough,  the 
butter  greasy,  and  the  sorghum  molasses  contained 
two  hapless  flies.  Because  their  misery  jarred  on 
him  he  released  them  from  slow,  saccharine  death, 
placing  them  on  a  soiled  spot  on  the  tablecloth. 
The  smoky  lamp  stood  in  dangerous  proximity  to 
the  bread.  He  moved  it,  and  happening  to  glance 
up  (he  had  thought  himself  sole  occupant  of  the 
room),  saw  in  the  obscurity  outside  the  radius  of  the 
lamp  a  white  jacket,  a  row  of  white  finger-nails,  two 
shining  eyes,  and  a  wide  set  of  gleaming  teeth.  The 
small  black  waiter  who  had  announced  supper  was 
silently  grinning  and  watching  him. 

"  Hello,  whose  boy  are  you?  "  he  said. 

"  Ain'  nobody's  boy,  sah.  I  jes'  b'longs  tu  my 
own  se'f." 

**  Ah,  indeed  !  You  are  a  fortunate  little  chap. 
Some  people,  you  know,  belong  to  the  devil."  Why 
John  said  this  he  could  not  have  told.  Perhaps 
something  in  the  uncanny  appearance  of  the  little 
imp  suggested  the  remark.  The  boy's  grin  grew 
wider. 

''  Yes,  sah." 

"  What's  your  name? 

*'  Name  Andy,  sah,* 


Return  to  Old  Scenes  39 

**  Is  that  all  the  name  you  have,  just  Andy?  " 

"  No,  sah." 

"  Well,  what's  the  rest  ?  " 

Andy's  great  eyes  rolled  toward  the  ceiling  as  if 
he  expected  to  find  the  rest  of  the  name  written 
there.  *'  Name  Andrew  Jackson  Franklin  Abra- 
ham Lincum  Wells,  sah." 

**  Spoken  like  a  man;  that's  the  way  to  tell  your 
name.  Andrew-Jackson-Franklin-Abraham-Lincoln- 
Wells.     Peculiar  combination." 

*'  Yes,  sah,  dey  jes'  calls  me  Andy  heah'bouts." 

"  So  you  used  to  be  one  of  old  Colonel  Wells' 
little  niggers,  did  you  ? " 

"  Doan'  know,  sah." 

**  Who  was  your  father?  " 

**  Doan'  know,  sah." 

"  Well,  who  was  your  mother?  " 

**  Name  Linda,  sah." 

"Linda  what?" 

"  Name  Linda  Angelina  Wells,  sah." 

"  I  guess  you  must  have  been  one  of  the  old 
colonel's  little  niggers,  then." 

*'  Mammy  say  as  haow  I  nuvva  did  n'  b'long  tu 
nobody,  sah."  Andy  spoke  with  some  warmth. 
Evidently  the  mother  had  fostered  the  idea  in  the 
child's  mind  that  he  had  been  born  free. 

Marshall  smiled.  In  spite  of  his  natural,  inherited 
disbelief  in  the  normal  condition  of  the  African  race 
as  a  state  of  freedom,  he  respected  the  little  rascal's 
pride  in  the  thought  of  having  been  free  born,  al- 
though he  was  morally  certain  the  boy's  father  was 
one  called  Unc'  Jupe,  whom  Colonel  Wells  had  sold 
off  the  plantation  before  the  war  to  be  rid  of  him. 


40     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

And  Marshall  was  right.     Andy's  mother  had  added 

Abraham    Lincum    to  her  boy's    already  extensive 

name,  in  gratitude  to  the  great  deliverer  of  her  race, 

after  the  child  was  old  enough  to  steal  hens'  eggs  on 

her  old  "  mars'r's  "  premises,  to  go  with  their  bacon. 

And  Andy  was  right  also.     He  had  no  recollection 

of  either  master  or  mistress,  and  belonged  to  no  one 

on  the  face  of  the  earth  but  ''  he's  own  se'f."     He 

was  an  anomaly  and  yet  a  type ;   a  type  of  a  new 

race  which  had  sprung  up  since  *'  de  wall,"  a  sort  of 

^  ^-NjJtWtV  ££tributive  scourge  to  the  Southern  people  for  hav- 

.       .  J  ing —  not  inlquitously,  perhaps,  but  blindly  —  kept 

ii^^i  %-»  1  ^  whole  race  of  human  beings  in  a  state  of  rnoral 

.'>^.^      N-  i  ^"^  physical  bondage  and  childish  ignorancel^ 

fir  NJ^N'tA!^*       "  Well,  Andy,  I  won't   dispute  it,  and  here  's    a 

^  ^   dime    to    help    you    take    care    of    your    precious 

possession." 

"  T'ankee,  sah."  Andy  clapped  the  dime  in  his 
mouth. 

Marshall  rose  from  the  table.  At  the  door  of  the 
dining-room  he  paused  a  moment.  "Andy,  what's 
become  of  old  Colonel  Wells  and  the  family  ?  " 

''  or  Mars'r  Gunnel  daid,  sah.  Missy  Gunnel,  she 
mos'  daid  tu." 

'*  Most  dead  !   what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  She  blin',  sah,  kyan  see  nuffin'.  Mars'r  Dick,  he 
daown  in  Richmon'.  Miss  Angelina,  she  in  Rich- 
mon'  tu."  The  dime  had  loosened  Andy's  tongue. 
"  An'  Miss  Katherine,  she  lib  on  de  ol'  place  an' 
te'k  kyah  on   ol'  missy." 

"What's  become  of  the  young  captain?" 

"  Daid,  sah.  Miss  Katherine  she  mou'nin'  fo'  him 
yit.      She   ain'    du    nuffin'    but   mou'n    an'    f^riebe. 


A 


Return  to  Old  Scenes  41 

Mammy  say  she  b'leebe  Miss  Katherine  she  gwine 
die  yit  wid  dat  griebin',  she  dat  so'-ha'ted." 

A  shadow  crept  over  Marshall's  face.  As  he 
closed  the  door,  a  woman  met  him  in  the  hall 
carrying    a    lamp. 

"  Good-evenin',"  she  said.  '*  Likely  you  are  the 
gentleman  who  come  in  on  the  train.  Your  trunk's 
gone  to  your  room,  'nd  I  was  just  goin'  to  take 
up  your  lamp."  She  stepped  forward,  expecting 
him  to  take  it;  but  he  moved  aside,  allowing  her 
to  pass. 

"  Thank  you,  I  was  looking  for  some  one  to  show 
me  my  room." 

The  woman  was  tall  and  stout,  and  walked  with  a 
heavy  rolling  gait.  She  eyed  the  young  man  over 
the  top  of  her  glasses  from  head  to  foot.  "  They 
tell  me  you  used  to  live  here,"  she  said.  "  Well, 
I  'm  sure  you  're  welcome  back,  but  it 's  a  poor 
place  to  make  a  livin'  in.  I  come  f'm  Ohio  my- 
self, 'nd  goodness  knows  I  wish  't  I  'd  stayed  there. 
Patterson  is  the  slowest  place  't  I  ever  did  see. 
Budd,  he  makes  all  the  money  they  is  here  in 
his  saloon.  They  ain't  nobody  here  but  what 
drinks." 

Although  tired,  sad,  and  nervously  irritated  by 
her  loquacity,  Marshall  answered  pleasantly,  — 

*'  I  never  lived  right  here  exactly.  Patterson  was 
not  in  existence  when  I  left." 

"  You  don't  say.  Well !  And  where  have  you 
been  livin'  all  these  years?  " 

"  In  San  Francisco.     I  have  an  uncle  there." 

''  So  !  And  your  paw  is  dead.  Your  maw,  is 
she  dead  too?     Where  is  she?" 


42      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Marshall  winced.  Her  strident  voice  rasped  on 
him.  '*  My  mother's  home  is  in  Cuba.  She  spends 
her  winters  there." 

"  You  don't  say !  Well !  And  where  does  she 
spend  the  rest  of  her  time?  Is  she  comin'  back 
here  too?  " 

'^  I  hardly  think  so."  He  ignored  the  rest  of  her 
question.  She  rolled  on  a  step  or  two.  He  thought 
the  catechism  ended,  when  she  faced  about  with  a 
new  question,  — 

*'  Who  was  your  paw?  I  must  'a'  heard  tell  o' 
him,  all  the  years  I  been  here,  ever  since  they  run 
the  road  through.  I  was  one  o'  the  very  first  't  did 
come,  'n'  I'm  sure  I  wish  't  —  " 

**  My  father  was  General  Marshall,"  he  replied, 
shifting  impatiently  from  one  foot  to  another. 

**  You  don't  say !  Well !  I  have  heard  tell  o' 
him,  sure  enough.  He  owned  all  the  land  here- 
abouts, 'nd  all  Patterson  too,  they  tell  me.  Well ! 
You  don't  say !  "  She  rolled  on  a  step  and  stopped 
again.  *'  I  suppose  your  maw  must  'a'  sold  all  this 
'ere  land  to  the  railroad.  How  much  'd  she  get  fer 
it,  think?  They  tell  me  the  house  's  been  took  by 
some  Chicago  folks  'nd  turned  into  a  board'n'-house. 
Well !  I  guess  they  '11  make  a  lot  keepin'  boarders 
here,  that 's  what  —  " 

"  Pity  my  soul,  madam,  are  you  never  going  to 
show  me  my  room?  I  mean —  Beg  pardon,"  he 
added,  recoiling  from  his  own  rudeness.  "  If  you 
will  give  me  the  lamp  and  direct  me,  I  won't  trouble 
you." 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right.  Guess  I  better  go  ahead 
'nd  light  th'  way."     She  gathered  her  skirt  in  one 


Return  to  Old  Scenes  43 

hand  and  began  climbing  the  stair  without  delay. 
**  Step  a  little  careful  here,  this  step  's  broke  'nd 
may  give  way,"  she  panted,  as  Marshall  stumbled 
on  in  the  shadow  of  her  broad  figure.  "That's 
your  door,  firs'  to  th'  lef.  I  hope  you  '11  sleep 
well,"  she  said,  standing  puffily  at  the  top  and 
pointing  into  the  obscurity.  "I'm  sure  I  do  the 
best  I  can  fer  my  boarders,  if  they  ain't  nothin' 
in  it,    nd  — 

"Thank  you,  thank  you."  Marshall  took  the 
lamp  and  moved  on  in  haste,  to  check  further  con- 
versation. As  he  pushed  open  the  door,  "  firs' 
to  th'  lef,"  it  crowded  against  something  piled 
against  it. 

"  Hello,  come  in.  Never  mind  obstacles,"  cried 
the  voice  of  his  friend  from  within. 

Marshall  wedged  the  door  open  about  a  foot, 
thrust  the  lamp  through  first,  and  edging  in  side- 
ways, stepped  over  a  pillow  and  confronted  Hanford 
seated  on  the  edge  of  the  empty  bedstead,  with  a 
feather  in  one  hand  and  the  lamp  without  the  burner 
in  the  other. 

"What's  all  this?"  said  John,  surveying  the  dis- 
ordered box  of  a  room.  "  Holding  high  carnival 
all  by  yourself  in  the  dark?  " 

"  Light  enough  to  serve  my  purpose,  and  I  'm 
through  now.  I'm  saving  you  a  little  annoyance, 
my  boy."  He  threw  the  feather  out  of  the  window, 
and  taking  the  burner  which  lay  on  the  sill  with  the 
dripping  wick  hanging  outside,  proceeded  to  screw 
it  on  the  lamp,  which  he  lighted  and  placed  on  the 
cluttered  little  washstand.  Seeing  John  still  hold- 
ing: his  with  a  dazed  air,  he  took  it  from  him,  cleared 


44      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

another  space,  and  set  it  down  also,  talking  in  a  de- 
tached way  as  he  worked. 

**  Sit  down  and  take  it  easy  a  minute  while  I 
straighten  things  up,"  he  said.  "  Finding  your 
room  inhabited,  I  began  a  work  of  extermination. 
You  '11  find  blood-suckers  enough  without  sleep- 
ing with  them.  Coal  oil  is  a  good  thing  applied 
liberally  with  a  feather,  although  the  odor  may 
not  rival  that  of  violets  in  spring.  My  first  night 
here  at  Scrapp's  was  a  memorable  one.  Before 
the  moon  silvered  the  mountain  tops  I  rose  and 
pitched  every  shred  of  my  bedding  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  spent  the  *  wee  sma' '  hours  tilted  back 
in  one  of  these  rickety  chairs,  reading  my  Bible. 
Smile ;  that 's  right,  smile !  You  looked  like  a 
whipped  dog  when  you  came  in.  Was  n't  the 
supper  to  your  taste?  It's  not  bad  reading;  be- 
sides, I  had  nothing  else  to  do  for  five  good  hours, 
unless  to  stand  around  and  swear.  Help  a  fellow  on 
with  those  springs.  Steady  there.  If  we  drop  them, 
old  Scrapp  will  be  up  to  see  if  we  're  both  drunk. 
He  does  nothing  for  the  place  but  confer  his  sug- 
gestive name  on  it.  His  wife  does  the  work.  She 
ambles  about,  making  the  best  of  things.  Never 
said  a  word  about  where  she  found  the  beddine 
next  day,  and  the  place  was  so  thoroughly  scrubbed 
I  did  n't  have  to  repeat  the  performance  for  a 
month ;  but  nowadays  I  don't  trouble  her,  I  work 
the  thing  with  a  kerosene  lamp  and  a  feather." 

"  Only  you  would  have  thought  of  this.  You  are 
your  old  self,  Hanford  Clark." 

**  Now  my  housework  is  done,  I  have  just  twenty 
minutes  for  gossip,"  said  Cla^k ;  "  then  I  must  be  on 


Return  to  Old  Scenes  45 

duty,  —  there's  an  eight-o'clock  freight,  —  so  fire 
away." 

"  First  then,  why  in  Heaven's  name  must  n't  I 
speak  of  our  friendship?" 

"  Because  I  have  not,  that  is  all.  You  wish  to 
untangle  things  peaceably;  take  my  advice.  Give 
me  the  cold  shoulder  in  the  presence  of  your  father's 
old  neighbors.  Moreover,  if  your  life  in  San  Fran- 
cisco impregnated  you  with  Northern  ideas,  drop 
them  for  a  time  or  you  will  bring  up  against  a  wall 
of  quiet  opposition  that  even  your  father's  repu- 
tation will  not  take  you  over."  He  paused,  and 
Marshall  was  silent. 

"  Two  years  have  given  me  some  experience. 
The  first  station-agent  being  a  Southern  man,  they 
naturally  thought  he  was  ousted  for  me.  I  have 
lived  down  that  odium  now,  however ;  at  least,  the  Pat- 
terson faction  treat  me  well.  They  rather  favor  the 
company.  You  see,  they  received  a  good  price  for 
their  land,  and  your  mother  was  to  have  had  the  same 
price  for  hers,  but  her  lawyer  here,  I.  M.  Monk  —  " 

"What!  Does  mother  still  keep  Monk?  I  al- 
ways—     Beg  pardon.     Go  ahead." 

"That's  all  right.     Say  on,  anything  you  please." 

"  I  am  surprised.  She  knew  I  disliked  the  man. 
Mother  has  been  reticent  about  business  until  she 
wrote  the  letter  that  brought  me  here.  Even  then 
she  did  not  mention  Monk  by  name.  She  used  to 
detest  Yankees,  but  she  is  shrewd.  She  knows  they 
are  good  business  men,  however  obnoxious  they 
may  be  otherwise." 

"  I  can  give  you  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  matter. 
She  has  left  you  too  much  in  the  dark.     You  are 


46      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

at  a  disadvantage.  It  was  this  way.  The  land- 
owners between  here  and  Milton  wished  the  com- 
pany to  put  the  road  through  Pine  Gap,  to  open 
up  their  property  there  for  sale,  and  Monk  hood- 
winked them  into  sending  him  to  negotiate  the 
business  for  them.  Then  the  old  fox  persuaded  the 
company  that  they  would  save  fifty  miles  of  steep 
grade  if  they  put  the  road  into  Milton  from  the 
north,  building  that  trestle  you  went  over  just  this 
side  of  Carlton,  and  skirting  the  French  Broad.  So 
they  did,  and  left  Pine  Gap  forty  miles  off  the  line 
of  travel.     Never  went  near  the  place." 

''What  was  that  for?" 

"  He  schemed  the  whole  thing  out  to  bring  his 
own  land  over  in  Broadgate  into  the  market.  He 
owned  a  thousand  acres  there.  Moreover  he 
screwed  a  bonus  out  of  every  Broadgate  land-owner 
who  made  anything  out  of  the  transaction,  and 
worried  another  big  payment  out  of  the  company 
on  your  mother's  property,  in  consideration  of  his 
services,  (1  would  look  after  that  if  I  were  you  ;  I 
doubt  if  she  ever  received  a  cent  more  than  the 
original  price),  and  sold  his  own  land  at  an  immense 
profit." 

'*  Where  does  Patterson's  quarrel  come  in  in  all 
this?" 

"  He  agreed  the  whole  of  Blue  Hill  here  should 
be  made  over  to  the  company  for  a  mere  nominal 
sum,  as  a  site  for  a  hotel  to  bring  travel  to  the  road, 
in  consideration  of  their  making  that  detour  around 
by  Broadgate." 

"  But,  as  I  remember  it,  the  Chaplains  owned 
that." 


Return  to  Old  Scenes  47 

"  They  own  one  half  and  your  mother  the  other. 
He  has  been  disposing  of  her  property  as  he  Hkes, 
and  teUing  her  what  he  pleases.  The  Chaplains  also 
own  land  at  Pine  Gap,  and  Jud  swears  his  half  of  the 
hill  shall  never  be  owned  by  a  set  of '  damned  thiev- 
ing Yankees '  until  they  pay  his  price,  which  he  has 
put  at  enough  to  cover  the  worth  of  this  and  all  his 
Pine  Gap  property  put  together." 

"  How  on  earth  did  Monk  ever  bring  about  the 
agreement  between  Chaplain  and  the  company  in 
the  first  place?  He  had  only  authority  over 
mother's  part." 

*' He  trapped  Chaplain  first,  by  talking  about 
getting  the  road  through  Pine  Gap.  Oh,  he 's 
smooth  as  grease." 

**  Why  can't  Chaplain  be  brought  to  terms  then?" 

''  He  employed  a  lawyer  from  the  city,  and  be- 
tween them  they  found  a  way  out  of  the  bargain." 

**  Well,  some  of  the  heaviest  stockholders  are  San 
Francisco  men,  as  you  know,  and  Uncle  Darius  has 
set  his  heart  on  having  me  build  that  hotel,  and  I'll 
do  it." 

"  He  's  one  of  the  largest  owners,  but  that  must 
not  be  known  here ;  you  never  will  build  it  if 
it  is." 

"  First  I  '11  dismiss  Monk  and  then  see  Judson  and 
get  him  interested  pecuniarily."  A  look  of  doubt 
passed  over  Hanford's  face.  Marshall  smiled.  "It 
can  be  done,"  he  said ;  "  it's  got  to  be  done,  that 's 
all." 

''  All  the  Pine  Gap  faction  are  down  on  Monk. 
They  'd  pitch  him  off  his  trestle  into  Mill  River  if 
they  could,"  said  Hanford. 


48      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

*'  Naturally ;  but  I  fail  to  see  how  all  this  necessi- 
tates my  giving  you  the  cold  shoulder.  I  can't  do 
it,  old  fellow." 

*'  The  whole  facts  of  the  case  necessitate  it.  We 
are  all  in  the  same  rank  hole.  Monk  is  a  Northern 
man,  and  his  meanness  and  double  dealing  have 
brought  distrust  down  on  us.  He  has  the  hatred  of 
the  whole  community  here,  and  of  course  some 
of  that  odium  falls  on  me.  Since  I  am  well  posted, 
and  an  employee  of  the  company,  if  you  seem  con- 
fidential with  me,  they  will  distrust  you.  Now  you 
are  one  of  them,  which  is  to  your  advantage." 

**  I  see,"  said  John. 

"  Here 's  another  complication.  An  especial 
election  comes  off  soon,  to  fill  the  place  of  circuit 
judge.  As  all  the  places  interested  in  the  road 
squabble  are  in  the  circuit,  there  is  war  to  the  knife. 
The  Broadgate  faction  have  succeeded  in  getting 
Monk's  name  on  one  of  the  tickets,  and  if  he  has 
the  negro  vote  he  stands  a  good  chance.  He  is  top 
of  the  heap  in  Broadgate,  is  a  great  swell  there, 
and  sticks  at  no  kind  of  wire-pulling;  is  engaged 
to  Senator  White's  daughter,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  She  is  an  old-maid,  as  raw-boned  as  he  is, 
but  he  wants  the  office.  The  other  party,  as  I  hap- 
pen to  know,  have  some  bulldozing  scheme  on  foot, 
and  naturally  they  look  on  every  Northern  man 
as  a  spy  on  their  actions.  Judson  Chaplain  is  their 
candidate." 

**  Monk 's  a  rascal,"  said  John  ;  "  I  '11  settle  him  as 
far  as  mother's  afi'airs  are  concerned." 

"  Take  my  advice,  and  be  prudent,"  continued 
his  friend.     '*  Strike  up  a  casual  acquaintance  with 


Return  to  Old  Scenes  49 

me  after  a  while.     In  the  mean  time,  be  sure  I  '11 
serve  you  in  any  way  in  my  power." 

"  You  are  an  out-and-out  true  friend,  Hanford  — 
you  always  were.  I  '11  do  as  you  say,  but  it 's 
mighty  hard  on  me." 

''  You  won't  find  everything  on  such  an  easy  foot- 
ing as  when  you  were  a  boy." 

"  Oh,  no,  but,  then,  everything  is  in  such  a  con- 
founded  mess  here  in  the  South.     \A/Iiatjdght_iisye  yi^y"'^   Q 
the  negroes  to  the  ballot  anyway?     Children  hand-^     -^^ ,rJL», 
ling  edged  tools,  no  more  fit  to  govern  themselves  I        -^ 
than  that  mule  out  there  by  the  fence,  nor  as  much."  / 

Hanford  Clark  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  No  need  01 
an}"  suggestions  from  me,  I  see.  You  '11  pass  with 
this  crowd.  How  came  they  here  in  the  first  place? 
Of  their  own  free  will  or  through  stress  of  circum- 
stances? (Mild  way  of  putting  it.)  What  right 
have  they  here?  Have  they  any  rights?  If  not, 
why  not?  " 

*'  Oh,  come  !  we  can't  argue,  Hanford.  We  were 
always  cats  and  dogs  on  this  point.  We  know  each 
other's  arguments  as  we  know  our  grammars.  It 's 
right  here  that  the  trouble  lies.  While  they  were 
kept  where  they  belonged  there  was  no  difiiculty. 
We  needed  them,  were  even  fond  of  them,  petted 
them,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing ;  but  given  absolute 
freedom,  turned  loose  like  a  pack  of  wild  colts, 
given  power  to  govern  us  perforce  when  they 
never  knew  how  to  take  care  of  themselves,  I  don't 
wonder.  It  is  too  much  to  be  borne.  I  know  it 
was  only  war  policy  at  first,  but  now  to  submit  to 
such  a  state  of  affairs  is  madness,  that  *s  all,  —  sheer 
madness." 
4 


50     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Look  here,  my  man,  affairs  have  changed  down 
here.  Ten  or  twelve  years  makes  a  big  difference. 
You  will  find  the  negroes  better  prepared  to  handle 
the  ballot  than  a  lot  of  your  ignorant  whites  up 
North  are.  They  are  pretty  intelligent.  They  con- 
fide in  the  Northerners  here  and  get  a  fairly  good 
idea  of  the  political  issues.  Even  those  who  can't 
read  —  " 

"  Yes,  I  see.  Men  like  Monk  prime  them  up. 
Fine  confidant  he  is  for  them.  I  guess  a  little 
wholesome  bulldozing  would  be  a  good  thing  for 
the  whole  set  of  white  scoundrels  as  well  as  black. 
There,  old  man,  don't  let  the  glow  die  out  of  your 
face  in  that  way ;  I  love  to  see  it  if  it  does  shine  on 
the  wrong  side,  —  the  shadow  side,  so  to  speak." 
They  were  silent  a  moment;  then  Marshall  added, 
"  Maybe  you  are  more  in  the  right  than  my  preju- 
dices will  let  me  believe." 

Clark  laughed,  and  looked  at  his  watch.  "You 
think  you  are  right  in  these  arguments  of  ours,  and 
I  know  I  am ;  but  you  know  how  to  be  generous,  at 
all  events,  and  so  ^stand  that  much  ahead  of  me  in 


an  argument." 


John  sat  lazily  tilted  back  in  his  chair,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  head.  His  friend  rose  and  paced 
restlessly  about  the  room.  "  The  same  old  stride," 
said  John.  ''  How  did  you  ever  blunder  into  such 
a  place  and  position  as  this?  The  company  is 
looking  up  a  little  in  the  matter  of  employees.  A 
college-bred  station-agent,  and —  What  are  you 
ruminatincr  about  now  ?  " 

"  I  must  go,"  said  Hanford,  looking  absently  at 
his  watch    again.     He    opened  the   door    half-way, 


Return  to  Old  Scenes  51 

shut  It,  and  walked  over  to  the  window,  where  he 
stood  with  his  back  to  his  friend.  "  You  have 
given  me  no  news  yet  of  your  mother.  Does  she 
come  North  this  summer?" 

"Yes;  she  is  in  New  York  by  this  time.  She 
wrote  she  should  sail  two  weeks  ago." 

"So  early!     Alone?" 

**  No  ;  Marguerite  is  with  her,  of  course."  Han- 
ford  shifted  himself  uneasily,  and  began  pointing 
a  pencil  with  his  knife.  Marshall  was  not  looking 
at  him,  and  went  on  wearily :  "  She  could  n't  live 
without  Marguerite,  and  yet  the  child  is  heartless, 
perfectly  heartless.  Mother  seems  wrapped  up  in 
her,  though." 

"  She  seemed  to  me  to  have  heart  enough,  and  a 
good  one  at  that." 

"  A  perfect  little  demon  when  she  can  twist  a 
man  around  her  finger.  Mother  would  have  had  us 
tied  together  three  years  ago  if  she  could  have  had 
her  way.  You  knew  we  were  engaged ;  but  that 
was  mother's  doing,  not  mine." 

"  I  knew.  Your  mother  told  me."  Hanford 
turned  half  round,  and  gave  his  friend  a  keen 
scrutiny,  still  occupied  with  his  knife.  John  talked 
on. 

"  I  had  a  few  words  with  the  midget,  and  she  con- 
fessed she  did  not  care  for  me  any  more  than  she 
did  for  an  old  shoe,  nor  as  much ;  for  an  old  shoe 
was  comfortable,  and  when  I  taxed  her  for  pretend- 
ing to  care,  she  admitted  she  did  it  to  have  peace  at 
home,  and  to  —  as  she  said  —  'keep  other  frauds  at 
bay.'  " 

"  But  your  mother  said  you  were  devoted  to  her." 


52      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  I  was,  —  am  still,  for  that  matter.  I  would  gladly 
see  her  married  to  my  dearest  friend  if  I  thought 
he  could  manage  her.  We  agreed  amicably  to 
break  the  engagement  and  keep  it  to  ourselves 
until  they  were  back  in  Cuba,  when  she  was  to 
break  it  to  mother,  as  she  said,  '  little  at  a  time.' " 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  never  have 
had  a  pang  of  regret  at  such  a  denouement?" 

"  Never  since  we  settled  it  to  both  our  hkings,  but 
many  a  one  before." 

Hanford's  eyes  shone  with  a  peculiar  light  as  he 
regarded  his  friend.  "  I  wonder  if  I  am  a  fool !  " 
he  said  quietly,  shutting  his  knife  with  a  sharp  click. 
Marshall  looked  up  in  sudden  surprise.  The  in- 
coming freight  whistled  the  same  instant  as  it  neared 
the  long  trestle,  and  Hanford  was  gone. 


CHAPTER   m 

PAST   AND    PRESENT 

JOHN  MARSHALL  rose,  and  shook  himself 
impatiently.  "Straws,"  he  muttered.  "So 
that 's  the  way  the  wind  sits.  Poor  fellow  !  He  's 
too  good  for  her."  He  moved  restlessly  about, 
then  stood  staring  out  of  the  window.  "  She  '11 
make  a  fool  of  him.  I  can't  interfere.  If  I  write 
mother  to  leave  her  in  New  York,  she  '11  be  dead 
set  to  start  for  Patterson  on  the  next  train."  He 
whistled  softly  a  minute,  then  threw  up  the  window 
as  far  as  it  would  go,  seized  his  hat,  and  passing 
out  of  the  room,  turned  the  key  in  the  door.  He 
felt  his  way  along  the  upper  corridor,  and  by  the 
feeble  light  of  a  lamp  in  the  hall  below  found  his 
way  out  into  the  night. 

The  train  was  thundering  up  to  the  station,  and 
Marshall  turned  toward  the  silence  of  the  hills.  A 
moment  he  looked  off  on  their  softened  outlines, 
in  the  bewitching  moonlight,  to  get  his  bearings. 
'*  The  blacksmith  shop  stands  just  as  it  used,"  he 
thought,  "  but  all  this  other  trash  has  beerTUumped 
here  since.  Even  Hackett's  store  is  new.  Well,  so 
wags  the  world ;  every  man  for  himself,  and  all  for 
the  shillings." 

He  turned  down  a  familiar  road,  walking  aim- 
lessly, drinking  in  the  sweet  cool  air,  which  scarcely 
stirred  the  leaves.  Faintly  in  the  distance  came 
the  cry  of  a  whippoorwill,  sharply  answered  from 

53 


s-^' 


54     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

a  great  gum-tree  over  his  head.  He  looked  up, 
feeHng  the  impulse  of  his  boyhood  to  throw  a  stone 
into  tile  tree  to  discover  the  bird's  whereabouts,  and 
saw  the  moon  looking  down  through  a  network  of 
branches  from  the  crest  of  a  distant  hill.  **  She 
seems  to  touch  the  earth,"  he  said. 

The  road  made  a  sudden  turn  down  a  declivity 
of  broad  shelving  rocks  to  the  ford  below,  and  he 
heard  the  sound  of  the  stream  mingling  with  the 
noise  of  frogs  and  the  chirping  of  tree-toads.  He 
stopped  on  the  footbridge  to  listen,  and  dropped  a 
stone  into  the  water  which  sent  back  the  sparkle  of 
a  thousand  gems.  His  heart  expanded  under  the 
influence  of  this  sweet  solitude.  This  was  a  part  of 
his  boyhood.  Why  had  he  never  visited  it  in  all 
these  years?     Why  had  he  ever  left  it? 

"  There  's  a  deep  pool  behind  that  boulder  where 
old  Alexander  gave  me  my  first  lesson  in  fishing. 
I  wonder  if  he 's  still  alive."  He  threw  a  stone 
toward  the  great  rock.  It  splashed  into  the  water, 
and  instantly  the  noise  of  the  frogs  ceased. 

"They've  been  croaking  there  all  these  years," 
he  said.  The  moonlight  spread  broadly  over  the 
little  bridge,  leaving  one  end  in  dense  shadow  where 
Marshall  leaned  on  the  railing,  completely  hidden. 
Suddenly  the  sounds  of  horses'  hoofs  and  men's 
voices  broke  the  stillness. 

**  'T  ain't  no  use  s'arch'n'  these  parts,  he  's  highah 
up  th'  maount'n.  Black  devils!  Thar's  plenty 
ut'll  hide  'im." 

"  Naw,  he's  feared  o'  th'  maount'n.  They're 
pizen  on  him  thar.  He  '11  make  fer  th'  low  country 
'nd  git  cl'ar  that-a-way."     There  were   four  riders. 


Past  and  Present  55 

They  stopped  in  the  stream  to  let  their  horses 
drink,  and  Marshall  recognized  one  as  the  man  he 
had  greeted  earlier  in  the  evening. 

''  Patterson  don't  go  much  on  a  niggah  till  he  gits 
a  fa'r  chance  tu  shoot  'im." 

"  Yas,  we-all  takes  a  lively  int'rust  in  a  niggah 
these  days  when  we  kin  let  daylight  into  'im." 

''  Wall  now,  they  is  some  good  uns,"  said  a  little 
man  perched  on  a  tall,  raw-boned  horse.  *'  Thar  's 
that  ar  Josephus,  he's  stiddy  an'  hones',  but  they 
all  needs  a  mastah  ovah  'em.  I  alluz  was  fa'r,  even 
tu  a  niggah.  All  they  need  is  tu  be  kep'  whar 
they  belong." 

As  they  dashed  away  past  the  place  where 
Marshall  stood  screened  by  the  shadows  and  veil 
of  wallow  branches,  Patterson's  horse  shied  violently. 
*'Whoah  thar,"  he  shouted,  and  turning  fired  his 
revolver  into  the  bank  above  John's  head.  '*  I 
reckon  thar 's  a  niggah  creepin  round  thar  ut's 
skeered  'im.  I  'd  put  a  bullet  through  every  durned 
black  hide  in  th'  country  'f  I  hed  th'  chance." 

John  Marshall  shuddered  and  walked  out  into 
the  moonlight,  feeling  as  if  he  had  awakened  from 
an  ugly  dream ;  but  he  sauntered  on.  One  sensa- 
tion would  be  all  he  could  reasonably  expect  to 
experience  in  one  evening,  and  he  would  not  be  shot 
at  if  he  kept  in  the  light  where  he  would  show  for  a 
white  man.  Although  shocked,  he  smiled,  thinking^ 
of  the  time  when  "  niggers  "  were  too  valuable  to  be 
shot  at,  at  random.  A  man  would  as  soon  think  of 
shooting  at  his  blooded  mare  in  sport  nowadays, 
as  he  would  then  of  hazarding  a  shot  into  a  thicket 
at  a  "  nigger." 


56      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 


"That  is  like  Patterson,"  he  thought.  *' Cool 
and  daring,  but  a  good  friend  withal.  And  the 
little  man  is  right;  under  masters  they  did  well 
enough,  but  in  these  changed  circumstances  they 
must  be  insufferable." 

Like  the  jack-rabbits  and  gophers  of  California, 
the  negroes  were  well  enough  when  they  committed 
no  depredations  ;  when  they  did,  it  was  quite  proper 
to  hunt  them  down.  There  were  too  many  of  them  — 
more  than  were  needed.  The  small  man  on  the  tall 
horse  seemed  to  have  on  an  official  coat  and  manner. 
Marshall  wondered  what  was  up,  as  he  sauntered  on, 
mechanically  taking  the  road  which  led  past  his 
boyhood's  home.  How  familiar  it  all  was  !  Every 
gnarled  old  gum-tree  and  boulder  brought  back  to 
him  events  of  those  free  and  happy  days. 

"  It  is  not  so  long  ago,"  he  thought.  Even  the 
wagon  ruts  seemed  the  very  ones  the  loaded 
tobacco  wagons  cut  then,  as  the  negroes,  whistling 
and  cracking  their  whips  at  the  mule  teams,  wound 
their  way  to  the  next  town.  Some  of  them  were 
trusted  to  do  all  the  business  of  selling  the  long 
train  of  loads  in  their  charge,  even  bargaining  for 
the  price  and  taking  the  money  home.  **  Shoot 
one  of  those  niggers  down  in  the  dark?  Not  much," 
he  thought.  There  was  old  Thomas,  the  preacher 
at  the  negro  quarters,  black  as  ebony,  noted  for 
honesty  and  good  sense.  He  was  his  master's 
best  friend  in  one  sense.  He  married  John's 
mammy,  but  that  was  before  John  could  remem- 
ber. She  often  told  him  about  how  they  were 
married  by  a  white  minister,  and  they  were  all  given 
a  holiday ;  how  "  mars'r  "  was  away  at  the  time,  and 


Past  and  Present  57 

how  he  swore  when  he  returned  and  found  her  mis- 
tress had  made  her  marry  old  Thomas  during  his 
absence. 

John  thought  of  his  sh'ght,  dark,  imperious 
mother,  reigning  as  queen  in  the  old  home.  All 
the  servants  feared  her.  The  piccaninnies  dodged 
round  doorways  and  corners  at  her  approach.  She 
seldom  had  them  punished,  but  they  feared  her 
nevertheless.  Only  Mammy  Clarissa  seemed  to  be 
without  this  fear.  She  waited  on  her  mistress  day 
and  night  without  complaint,  yet  never  seemed  sub- 
missive. She  was  tall,  fairer  than  her  mistress,  and  y 
wore  always  a  silk  turban  and  white  gown.  Her 
step  was  long  and  rapid.  She  moved  easily,  but 
with  the  sudden  directness  which  indicated  under- 
lying force.  Always  quiet  and  inscrutable,  her 
expression  seldom  changed ;  only  when  he  was  tired 
and  crept  into  her  lap  in  the  twilight,  she  laughed, 
and  rocked  him  in  her  arms,  and  told  him  stories  of 
the  time  when  she  *'  war  a  liT  gal,  an'  her  mammy 
war  mos'  like  her."  She  told  him  of  a  great  city 
by  the  sea  where  she  had  lived,  of  the  ships,  and 
the  moonlight  on  the  water,  and  the  songs  of  the 
negroes  rowing  boats  full  of  pleasure-seekers  past 
her  "  ol'  mars'r's  haouse  "  in  the  summer  evenings. 

*'  I  war  right  happy  den,  honey,  right  happy," 
she  used  to  say,  ''  a-rollin'  on  de  grass  an'  a-listenin' 
tu  de  watah.  01'  mars'  uset  tu  go  dar  eve'y  y'ar 
w'en  de  long  hot  days  come.  Missus  she  uset  tu 
sit  in  de  po'ch  an'  sing  tu  ol'  mars'r  in  de  dark,  w'en 
I  war  li'l'  gal." 

In  the  years  that  had  passed,  it  was  Mammy 
Clarissa's    caresses   he    remembered  more  than  his 


58      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

mother's,  and  yet  she  never  had  seemed  to  him 
to  be  exactly  a  human  being,  as  he  appHed  that 
term  to  his  mother  or  himself.  She  was  his  father's 
chattel,  no  more,  no  less.  As  a  child,  he  loved  her 
with  a  child's  delight  in  her  affection  and  caresses ; 
as  a  man  he  thought  of  her  kindly,  and  wondered  if 
she  were  still  living. 

"  I  must  hunt  her  up,  if  she  is,  and  give  her  some- 
thing.    Faithful  old  soul !  "  he  said. 

She  had  a  boy  of  his  own  age,  he  remembered, — 
a  pale,  lithe  imp,  with  eyes  as  black  as  sloes,  wilful, 
always  getting  into  scrapes  and  domineering  over 
the  other  piccaninnies.  His  mistress  petted  him,  but 
his  mother  paid  no  more  attention  to  him  than  to 
any  other  of  the  swarming  raft  on  the  place.  She 
never  allowed  him  in  the  house.  "  Yo'  stay  dar 
wha  yo'  b'longs,"  she  would  say  when  his  black 
eyes  peered  into  her  face  from  some  doorway. 
This  boy  had  been  John's  own  little  body-servant, 
playmate,  and  scapegoat,  as  prolific  in  mischievous 
schemes  as  his  young  master  was  daring  in  carrying 
them  out.  Clarissa  had  a  younger  boy,  black  as 
the  ace  of  spades.  John  wondered  what  had  be- 
come of  him.  He  thought  of  the  numerous  house- 
servants,  the  loquacious  old  cook,  the  little  "  house 
birds,"  who  "  toted  ashes,  fotched  vvatah,"  and  loi- 
tered on  all  the  numberless  errands  of  the  house- 
hold. He  smiled  as  he  thought  how  their  black 
legs  would  fly  and  the  white  soles  of  their  feet 
twinkle,  as  they  darted  away  from  the  kitchen  door, 
with  a  splint  broom  scudding  after,  hurled  by  the 
irate  cook  for  some  impudence  from  their  "  sassy 
maoufs." 


Past  and  Present  59 

He  thought  of  Alexander  and  his  tribe  of  assist- 
ants. Every  servant  of  importance  had  corps  of 
under  helpers  being  trained  and  "  fotched  up."  He 
thought  of  the  mellow  voices  of  the  field  hands  sing- 
ing together  in  the  quarters  on  just  such  moonlit 
evenings  as  this.  He  was  never  allowed  among 
them  unless  accompanying  his  father  on  his  rounds 
over  the  plantation  when  his  political  duties  per- 
mitted his  being  at  home,  but  they  were  fond  of  the 
young  master,  who  sometimes  dispensed  their  semi- 
annual allowance  of  rations  and  clothing,  adding 
thereto  small  gifts  from  his  own  pocket  money. 

**  I  wonder  if  I  could  remember  them  all !  "  he 
said,  counting  them  off  by  their  names  and  nick- 
names. Ah !  the  busy  old  place  in  those  days 
teemed  with  exuberance  of  life. 

Although  happy,  his  boyhood  still  lacked  in 
some  part  that  which  childhood  should  have  to  be 
looked  back  upon  with  tenderest,  sweetest  memories. 
He  was  fed,  petted,  and  indulged  by  Mammy 
Clarissa  and  the  household  servants,  and  reproved 
by  his  mother  for  his  misdemeanors.  Hospitality 
reigned  in  the  home.  Distinguished  political  friends 
of  his  father's  came  for  a  week's  relaxation,  or  a 
day's  sport,  and  in  summer  his  mother's  Cuban 
relatives  and  friends  thronged  around  her,  and  all 
was  gayety  and  life. 

How  well  he  remembered  loitering  about  the 
piazza,  watching  the  languid,  dark-eyed  ladies  in 
their  full  luminous  silks  and  soft  muslins,  fluttering 
their  fans,  and  chatting  in  low  tones,  sometimes  in 
French  or  Spanish,  but  oftenest  in  English  made 
soft  by  their  melodious  drawl.     There  their  partners 


6o     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

came  for  them  for  the  dance,  or  sat  beside  them 
smoking;  there  wines  were  served  by  hthe  young 
negresses.  How  he  loved  the  merriment  and  badi- 
nage, and  the  soft  sweet  odors  that  filled  the  evening 
air  from  waving  fans  and  overhanging  vines  of  jas- 
mine and  honeysuckle ;  and  now  the  negroes  were 
scattered,  and  the  old  home  left  to  run  wild  and 
drop  into  decay,  and  at  last  turned  into  a  boarding- 
house  !  "  Why  did  mother  ever  sell  that  one  spot, 
of  all  others?"  he  said.  '*  She  had  no  need  of  the 
money." 

Suddenly  he  stood  listening.  The  sound  of  a 
voice,  a  sweet  high  soprano,  rang  out  on  the  still 
air,  full,  clear,  penetrating  the  wide  reaches  of  space, 
as  if  searching  the  listener.  Ah,  the  charm  of  that 
woman's  voice  !  He  lifted  his  head  and  gazed  about 
in  bewilderment.  Was  he  there,  at  the  old  place  ? 
There  was  the  arching  gateway  casting  a  circular 
shadow  at  his  feet,  the  curving  drive,  the  fountain 
playing  as  of  old,  the  shrubbery  run  wild  and 
tangled,  but  still  there.  He  peered  about  in  the 
moonlit  darkness,  and  lingered  while  the  music 
floated  out  to  him  through  the  open  windows.  The 
singer  was  rendering  an  aria,  florid  and  difficult.  He 
had  heard  it  before,  but  here,  in  this  place,  lonely 
and  forsaken,  how  incongruous !  Thrilled  with  the 
outpouring  of  melody  and  rhythm,  he  walked  nearer 
and  nearer,  drawn  by  the  magic  of  the  voice  and  the 
hour,  and  finally  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  basin 
of  the  old  fountain. 

The  song  ended,  and  a  soun'd  of  children's  voices 
and  laughter  came  from  the  open  door.  Had  the 
old  times  returned?     But  none  sang  thus  in  those 


Past  and  Present  6i 

days.  This  must  be  some  Northern  guest.  The 
children  ran  out  into  the  moonhght.  A  man's 
voice  called  them  to  come  in.  *'  Where  is  the 
nurse?  Where  is  Mary?"  said  the  man.  ''These 
children  ought  to  be  in  bed."  They  ran  in  again, 
and  Marshall  felt  as  if  being  shut  out  from  his  own 
home  as  the  door  closed  after  them.  He  rose  to  go, 
but  again  the  voice  of  the  singer  filled  the  air,  and 
he  sat  down,  with  his  head  between  his  hands,  and 
listened.  A  merry  little  English  ballad,  and  a  cradle- 
song,  dulcet  and  mellow  !  Marguerite  sang  them,  but 
not  in  this  way.  Not  jike  any  instrument  were  the 
tones,  —  only  a  woman's  voice,  incomparably  sweet 
and  Jijgnder.  Song  followed  song.  Twice  more 
he  rose,  and  twice  remained.  "  To-morrow  I  will 
find  out  about  her,"  he  said.  At  last  the  voice  w^as 
still.  The  lights  disappeared  one  by  one  from 
the  windows.  He  hurried  away,  but  the  voice  re- 
mained with  him.  All  night  long  it  haunted  his 
slumbers. 


CHAPTER   IV 

OLD    FRIENDSHIPS 

JOHN  MARSHALL  was  awakened  next  morning 
by  a  glare  of  sunlight  streaming  through  the 
open  window.  The  air  was  fragrant  with  bloom. 
A  bird  sang  its  ecstasies  in  a  bush  outside.  He  lay 
still  and  listened  until,  in  his  dreamy  state,  the  voice 
of  the  evening  mingled  with  the  song,  and  the  deliri- 
ous bird-notes  resolved  themselves  into  arias  and 
plaintive  cradle-songs,  and  again  a  woman's  voice 
seemed  to  take  up  the  notes  and  warble  them  like  a 
bird.  Suddenly  a  gong  was  struck  under  his  win- 
dow, and  with  that  hideous  sound,  the  odors  of 
sausage  and  vile  coffee  pervaded  the  room.  He 
dressed  hurriedly  and  tried  to  form  a  plan  for  the 
day's  action,  but  every  scheme  seemed  to  turn  on 
discovering  the  owner  of  the  voice. 

"  I  am  growing  fairly  sentimental,"  he  said. 
**  She  may  be  the  mother  of  those  children,  and 
forty  at  the  least."  He  smiled,  and  a  crooked  little 
mirror  sent  back  a  twisted  reflection  of  himself  with 
a  diabolical  grin. 

There  were  few  boarders  at  Scrapp's  and  the 
dining-room  was  nearly  empty.  During  his  hurried 
breakfast  his  loquacious  landlady  regaled  him  with 
an  account  of  a  murder,  news  of  which  reached 
her  through  the  posse  who  had  breakfasted  there 
early  that  morning. 

62 


Old  Friendships  63 

**  Do'  know  what  ever  is  goin'  to  become  of  this 
place,"  she  said.  "  Thievin',  moonshinin',  murderin' 
killin'  lot  they  be.  I  'm  sure  I  wisht  I  was  back  in 
Ohio  myself,  where  folks  know  how  to  live  decent. 
There  's  that  old  Toplin  woman  up  the  mountain, 
she  's  been  murdered,  they  tell  me,  found  her  in  the 
branch  where  she  done  her  washin'  with  her  throat 
cut  'nd  her  clo'es  torn  half  off'n  her,  'nd  every  single 
thing  in  the  cabin  smashed  to  pieces,  'nd  they  'low 
it 's  the  nigger  't  worked  for  the  old  man  't  's  done 
it,  fer  they  found  his  striped  jail  clo'es  in  the  corner 
o'  the  cabin,  'nd  the  old  man's  clo'es  gone." 
*'  Where  is  the  old  man?  " 

"  He's  in  the  penitentiary  servin'  out  a  term  for 
moonshinin',  'nd  the  nigger  was  took  up  when  he 
was,  but  they  tell  me  the  nigger's  got  out,  so 
they  're  after  him  fer  the  killin',  'nd  when  they  git 
him  they '11  hang  him,  sure." 

Marshall  hastened  out  into  the  bracing  morning 
air.     Although  early,  there  was  considerable  stir  in 
the    little    place.     Men   were    gathered  in   front    of 
Budd's  saloon   talking  in   low   tones,    and    another 
group  lounged  in  the  post-office.     He  glanced  about, 
and  seeing  the  barber's  pole  near  by,  and  also  the 
sign  "  I.  M.  Monk,  Attorney  at  Law,"  a  few  steps 
farther,  he  turned  his  steps  in  that  direction,  avoid- 
ing both  groups  of  loungers.     Monk  had  heard  of 
his  arrival  and  was  expecting  him.     He  sat  at  his 
desk,   his  hat  drawn   down  to  his  eyebrows,  a  pen 
over  his  ear,  a  toothpick  between  his  teeth,  and  a 
pile  of  papers  before    him.     He   rose  instantly,  as 
Marshall    entered,    extending    a    bony    hand.     The 
lower  part  of  his  face  smiled  broadly,  while  his  eyes 


64      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

scrutinized  his  visitor  from  under  his  hat  rim.     He 
was  bland  and  alert. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Marshall,  glad  to  see  you,  glad  to  see 
you  indeed.  This  is  a  surprise.  A  little  cool  this 
morning.  Come  over  by  the  fire.  I  must  have  a 
fire.  I  have  a  fire  right  up  to  midsummer.  Can't 
stand  the  cold  here  in  the  mountains." 

He  placed  a  chair  for  Marshall  near  a  rusty  little 
cracked  stove  in  which  a  feeble  fire  was  burning, 
and  seating  himself  still  nearer,  with  his  elbows  on 
his  knees,  he  stretched  his  wiry  hands  toward  the 
heat,  alternately  opening  and  shutting  his  fingers  as 
if  he  were  grasping  at  something. 

John  felt  in  no  mood  for  elaboration,  and  hurried 
through  his  interview  with  the  agent  with  what 
seemed  to  that  individual  scant  ceremony  in  his 
dismissal,  and  set  off  to  look  up  some  of  the  old 
neighbors  whom  he  used  to  like  in  his  boyhood. 
Chief  among  them  was  the  family  of  old  Colonel 
Wells.  Andy's  words  of  the  evening  before,  *'  Missy 
Cunnel  mos'  daid  tu,"  came  back  to  him.  "  I  will 
go  to  them  first,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  chin.  It  was 
rough,  and  returning  to  Scrapp's  he  gathered  up 
his  shaving-tools  and  proceeded  to  the  sign  of  the 
striped  pole.  Chas  was  busy.  A  young  surveyor 
from  Asheville  was  in  the  chair  who  rolled  his  eyes 
abnormally  to  get  a  look  at  the  new-comer  without 
moving  his  head.  John  walked  to  the  window 
and  looked  out  on  the  street.  He  saw  Patterson 
and  another  man  ride  over  the  brow  of  the  hill  and 
gallop  rapidly  down  the  street,  stopping  in  front 
of  Hackett's  store.  The  proprietor  came  out  and 
the    three    men    held    an    animated    conversation, 


Old  Friendships  65 

Patterson  gesticulating  violently  with  his  long  arms, 
and  firing  tobacco  juice  right  and  left.  Budd  joined 
them  from  his  saloon,  and  others  gathered.  It  was 
about  ten  in  the  morning  and  the  professional 
loungers  were  all  on  duty.  Patterson  drew  a  revol- 
ver from  his  hip  pocket,  and  Marshall  shuddered. 
The  barber  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Now,  sail,  de  gen'lem  's  done  gone,  sah."  He 
turned  and  recognized  the  speaker. 

"  Why,  Chesterfield,  is  this  you?  Don't  you  know 
me?" 

The  pale  yellowish  face  of  the  barber  lighted  with 
a  pleasant  smile.  '*  Sho'  now !  I  jes'  reckon,  sah ! 
I  done  hyeah'd  yo'  come  home  'gin." 

"  You  are  a  fine  strapping  fellow  too.  All  set 
up  in  business  here?" 

"  Yas,  sah,  I 's  fixed  right  smaht,  I  reckon.  Dis 
heah  is  mighty  fine  razor,  sah.  Is  yo'  gwine  bide 
'long  o'  we-uns?  Dis  place  lookin'  up  a  heap  in  de 
las'  yeah.  Heap  o'  gen'lems  draps  in  now  long 
back." 

Marshall  inquired  after  the  hands  on  the  old 
place,  learned  of  the  whereabouts  of  Mammy 
Clarissa  and  Josephus,  and  having  set  Lord  Chester- 
field's tongue  wagging,  the  shaving  began.  Chas 
was  an  expert  at  his  trade  and  deft.  He  had  not 
hung  about  the  place,  as  did  most  of  the  negroes 
after  being  set  free,  but  with  more  than  their  usual 
enterprise  had  worked  his  way  to  Raleigh,  and  there 
learned  the  tonsorial  art.  Although  a  great  dandy, 
he  was  of  an  acquisitive  nature  and  had  soon  saved 
up  enough  to  set  up  his  own  pole  in  Patterson  with 
the  modest  announcement,  "  Tonsorial  Parlor.  L.  C. 
5 


66      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Marshall,  Artist  and  Proprietor."  The  male  inhabi- 
tants used  the  gay  pole  as  a  mark  for  well-aimed 
shots  of  tobacco  juice,  and  the  first  few  months  of 
the  "  artist "  in  his  parlor  were  a  dismal  failure  ;  but 
he  continued  to  strut  among  the  colored  population 
as  **  cock  o'  the  walk,"  and  relished  the  distinction 
of  being  the  only  travelled  and  well-informed  speci- 
men of  their  race  too  well  to  be  easily  dismayed. 
His  well-saved  earnings,  being  spent  only  on  him- 
self, lasted,  eked  out  by  the  occasional  patronage 
of  strangers,  and  he  lived  well  and  dressed  smartly. 
Beside  his  trade  he  had  acquired  the  accomplish- 
ments of  reading  and  writing  after  a  fashion,  and  he 
loved  to  sit  in  his  window  in  plain  sight  from  the 

street,  as  he  perused  the  columns  of  the  *'  Asheville 

C>> 
ourier. 

A  few  arrivals  on  the  morning  train  were  driven 
off  in  the  equipage  belonging  to  the  new  boarding- 
house.  Old  Alexander,  with  a  revival  of  former 
dignity,  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  yet  con- 
trived to  keep  an  eye  on  the  bronze  urchins  who 
clustered  round  the  carriage,  cracking  his  whip  at 
their  bare  brown  legs,  ''  tu  larn  'em  day  mannahs," 
if  they  ventured  too  near.  Marshall,  emerging  from 
the  tonsorial  parlors,  saw  him  drive  off,  and  recog- 
nized the  grave,  withered  little  face  with  a  certain 
pleasure.  He  resolved  to  visit  the  old  home,  even 
if  it  cost  him  a  few  pangs,  for  the  sake  of  this  faith- 
ful old  man.  He  thought  of  the  singer  of  the  even- 
ing before,  and  his  resolve  was  strengthened. 

The  crowd  had  now  collected  in  Budd's  saloon. 
Marshall  heard  loud  voices  as  he  passed,  and  caught 
a  little  of  the  talk.     One  man,  perched  on  the  coun- 


Old  Friendships  67 

ter,  taller,  lanker,  and  if  possible  yellower  than  the 
rest,  appeared  to  be  giving  a  detailed  account  of  the 
last  evening's  search. 

**  He  's  layin'  low  som'ers  hyarabouts,  an'  th'  var- 
mints are  givin'  'im  victuals,"  he  said.  "  His  maw 
'lowed  't  she  never  knowed  't  he  was  out  o'  jail. 
Said  't  she  seed  a  white  man  round  thar  in  jail 
clo'es.     Laws  !   They  '11  lie  faster  'n  a  hoss  kin  run." 

"  Yas,  they  is  tu  many  niggahs  alive." 

John  passed  on.  It  was  warm,  and  he  mopped 
his  forehead  with  his  handkerchief,  and  removed  his 
coat.  '*  I'll  have  a  saddle  horse  if  there  's  one  left 
in  the  country,"  he  said.  Men,  horses,  even  the 
very  dogs,  seemed  to  have  undergone  a  deterio- 
rating change,  as  well  as  the  younger  growth  of  the 
negro  population.  He  wondered  if  there  were  any 
ladies  left  in  the  land. 

Miss  Katherine  was  in  her  garden  among  the 
lilacs.  A  sturdy  little  negro  girl  trudged  after  her, 
carrying  a  waterpot  full  of  water.  She  spoke  to 
the  child  in  a  gentle  drawl  that  was  musical  and 
sweet,  — 

*'  Gertrude,  stop  slopping  watah  ev'y  step  yue 
take.     Yue  ah  making  the  path  right  muddy." 

Had  Miss  Katherine  possessed  the  means,  her 
home  would  have  been  filled  with  works  of  art,  and 
every  object  which  refinement  and  exquisite  good 
taste  would  suggest.  As  it  was,  having  no  other 
outlet  for  her  passionate  love  for  the  beautiful,  her 
sweet  soul  gave  itself  to  the  cultivation  of  flowers 
with  a  devotion  that  was  pathetic,  —  her  flowers  and 
her  blind  old  mother.  With  barely  means  for  their 
daily  necessities,   and   no  hope  to  shed  brightness 


68      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

over  her  future,  she  awaited  the  yearly  resurrection 
of  her  flowers  with  intense  delight,  as  each  unfolded 
itself,  a  new  creation,  with  the  advancing  season. 

"  Here,  Gertrude,  mind  now,  yue  due  step  all 
ovah.  Watah  those  Sweet  Williams  I  set  out  last 
evening.  They  ah  hanging  down  like  they  wanted 
tue  be  back  in  their  old  bed.  This  ribbon  grass  is 
growing  ovah  the  bo'dah.  I  promised  Miz  Chaplain 
some.  Yue  take  it  tue  her  aftah  lunch,  and  mind, 
Gertrude,  due  yue  heah  ?  " 

''  Yas,  'm." 

"  Yue  hand  me  the  trowel.  Ask  Miz  Chaplain 
tue  come  ovah  tue  lunch  to-morrow.  Ma  gets  so 
lonesome.  But  there,  yue  '1  fohget,  yue  need  n't 
ask  her  anything,  I  '11  write  a  note.  There  's  ma's 
bell,  put  down  the  watahpot  and  run.  Run,  child, 
yue  ah  so  slow.     Don't  step  all  ovah  the  bo'dahs." 

The  path  from  the  grass-grown  roadway  was  long 
and  winding.  John  caught  sight  of  Miss  Katherine's 
slight,  black-robed  figure  among  the  bushes,  and 
walked  rapidly  toward  her.  The  lilac  blooms 
nodded  as  he  brushed  past,  and  the  slender  leaves 
of  the  corn  lilies  rustled,  but  she,  buried  in  her  vast 
black  bonnet,  stooped  over  the  ribbon  grass,  unaware 
of  his  approach  until  the  gate,  swinging  slowly 
back,  clicked  behind  him.  She  rose  quickly, 
and  regarded  him  a  moment  with  a  bewildered 
look  on  her  thin,  fine  face,  while  she  brushed 
the  dust  mechanically  from  her  slender  hands  and 
her  dress. 

John  smiled  down  upon  her  with  head  uncovered. 
She  looked  so  frail.  Was  this  Miss  Katherine  or 
her  wraith?     A  moment  they  faced  each  other  thus. 


Old  Friendships  69 

then  the  light  of  recognition  dawned  in  her  face,  and 
she  took  a  quick  step  forward. 

"  Due  I  really  see  John  Mahshall?  "  she  said. 

**  Yes,  Miss  Katherine."  He  took  both  her  hands, 
looked  in  her  eyes,  and  then  with  a  boyish  impulse 
of  reverence  and  affection,  pushed  back  the  ugly 
bonnet  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek.  Although 
twenty  years  his  senior,  a  faint  flush  crept  over  her 
face.  "  I  wanted  to  make  sure  it  is  really  you  and 
not  your  ghost,"  he  said., 

"  Yue  ah  the  very  same  boy,  if  yue  ah  grown  so 
tall  and  grand  like  yuah  fathah.  Where  have  yue 
come  from?"  She  led  him  to  a  seat  under  a 
branching  chestnut.  He  remembered  the  seat  and 
the  tree.  Her  heart  gave  a  little  flutter,  and  she  felt 
faint  as  the  past  rushed  before  her  in  a  flood  of 
painful  recollections.  She  removed  the  obnoxious 
sunbonnet,  and  dropped  her  hands  in  her  lap, 
"  Donald  is  gone,"  she  said. 

*'  I  know,"  he  said,  and  was  silent.  They  did  not 
look  at  each  other  for  a  few  minutes,  and  two  large 
tears  left  her  brown  eyes  and  dropped  on  her  folded 
hands.  She  wiped  them  away,  and  two  more  fol- 
lowed. John  shifted  his  position  uneasily.  Had 
she  been  his  own  little  older  sister,  or  his  little 
"  Aunt  Katherine,"  as  he  had  called  her  when  he 
and  Donald  were  boys,  he  could  have  taken  her 
in  his  arms  and  kissed  them  away.  The  wholesome 
impulse  to  give  comfort  possessed  him,  but  how 
could  he?  He  took  one  of  her  slight,  worn  hands 
between  his  own  and  stroked  it  gently.  Ah !  when 
he  saw  her  last  those  hands  were  soft  and  white,  and 
almost   plump.     They  had  rested  in  his  curls,  and 


JO      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

touched  his  boyish  cheek.  She  was  a  lady  then. 
What  was  she  now?  Toil  had  hardened  her 
hands,  sorrow  had  aged  her  face,  and  Donald  — 
Donald  was  gone,  —  the  only  boy  friend  he  had 
ever  had. 

**  Yes,  Miss  Katherine,  I  know.  The  merry  heart 
of  life  has  gone  out,  gone  with  Donald  and  the  rest 
of  the  brave  fellows,  and  you  are  here  alone  with 
your  mother." 

*'  Ma  is  blind." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  too.  But  things  are  going  to 
change.  New  life  will  come  in.  There  is  a  little 
stir  already." 

"  Dick  and  Angeline  come  home  every  summer. 
Ma  looks  forward  to  that  the  whole  year  through, 
but  Dick  can't  stay  long  when  he  does  come;  his 
practice  is  large.  They  ah  in  Richmond.  He 
neva'  has  married,  neitha'  has  Angeline.  She  is 
a  right  good  housekeeper." 

Miss  Katherine's  speech  was  slow.  Her  sweet 
voice  lingered  over  the  long  vowels  and  treated 
the  r's  with  true  Bostonian  slight. 

"  I  always  liked  Dick,  but  Donald  was  my  hero," 
said  John. 

**  Almost  every  one  yue  used  tue  know  is  gone. 
Oh,  some  of  the  old  folks  ah  left,  like  ma  and  me, 
and  Mr.  and'Miz  Chaplain,  but  their  boys  ah  moved 
tue  Pine  Gap.  A  few  of  the  old  fine  families  ah  in 
Asheville  duing  something  foh  a  living,  and  some  ah 
clean  died  out  o'  killed  off,  and  theih  fine  places 
sold  o'  run  tue  waste.  The  fine  horses  were  rode 
into  the  ahmy,  or  taken  by  the  Unions,  none  were 
left   foh    the    growing   up    boys    tue    due    with    o' 


Old  Friendships  71 

handle,  they  were  obHged  tue  leave  the  country  tue 
live.  The  old  folks  that  stay  on  like  we  due,  barely 
live  on  what  they  can  get  the  niggahs  tue  raise.  The 
niggahs  ah  good  foh  nothing, — the  young  ones, — 
and  the  old  ones  ah  feeble  now.  Have  yue  been  tue 
the  old  place  yet  ?  " 

*'  I  only  walked  past  it  after  sundown.  They 
seemed  to  be  having  a  good  time.  Some  one  was 
singing  —  a  lady."  He  placed  Miss  Katherine's 
hand  back  in  her  lap,  and  rising  paced  the  path  in 
front  of  the  seat.  *'  Yes,  evidently  a  lady,"  he  said. 
**  Have  you  met  them,  the  present  owners?" 

*'  I  did  n't  go  foh  a  right  good  while,  then  Dick 
sent  one  of  his  patients  there,  and  wrote  me  tue  call 
on  her,  and  I  did."  She  paused,  watching  the  young 
man  restlessly  striding  up  and  down.  *'  I  due  wish 
ma  could  see  yue,"  she  said  at  length.  "  Yue  ah  the 
very  image  of  yuah  fatha'  and  yue  ah  right  hand- 
some tue." 

John  laughed.  He  sat  beside  her  again  and  took 
her  hand  as  before.  "  You  look  at  me  with  different 
eyes  from  most  people,"  he  said.  "  You  know  how 
I  loved  Captain  Donald,  and  you  let  a 'little  of  your 
feeling  for  him  color  your  thoughts  of  me;  but 
although  I  don't  deserve  it,  I  hke  it,  Miss  Katherine. 
I  wish  —  "     He  hesitated. 

"  Where  ah  yue  stopping?  "  she  asked. 

"  At  Scrapp's." 

*'  Oh,  John  !  That  horrible  place  !  Come  here 
and  stop.  We-all  can't  due  foh  yue  like  we  used 
tue,  but  ouh  doahs  ah  never  closed  tue  old  friends." 

"  Will  you  let  me  come  as  you  would  Dick  or 
Donald,  were  he  here  now?     Will  you  let  me  pay 


72      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

my  way  and  be  no  burden  to  you?"  he  asked 
eagerly. 

She  drew  away  the  hand  he  had  taken,  and  a 
shadow  crept  over  her  face  in  a  crimson  flush. 
'*  I  neva'  meant  so,"  she  said.  "  We  neva'  have 
kept  bo'dahs,  ma  and  I.  We  neva'  could  due 
that." 

*'  Why,  no,  of  course  !  "  he  exclaimed  instantly. 
*' I  only  meant  —  "  He  hesitated.  *' I  can  make  it 
right  some  other  way,"  he  thought.  "  But  there ! 
It  is  like  you  to  take  pity  on  me  in  that  way.  I 
need  it  too.  It  is  a  confoundedly  dismal  place 
there." 

Miss  Katherine  rose,  and  stood  before  him,  slight 
and  straight,  her  head  lifted  like  a  queen.  "  Yue  ah 
General  Mahshall's  son,"  she  said.  **  Youa  rightful 
place  is  with  youa  fatha's  old  friends.  Ouh  grand- 
fatha's  came  tue  No'th  Carolina  from  Virginia  to- 
getha'  and  bought  their  plantations  joining,  and 
lived  and  died  as  friends.  Ouh  fatha's  fought  in 
the  same  ahmy,  and  died  on  the  same  day,  and 
were  always  like  brothahs,  and  youa  rightful  place 
is  heah.  Yue  bring  youa  boxes  this  evening,  and 
Donald's    old   room    is  youas.     Come   in  now  and 


see  ma." 


John's  eyes  glistened.  He  felt  like  kissing  her 
again.  "  I  will  do  what  you  say,"  he  replied,  fol- 
lowing her  to  the  house.  "  I  will  obey  you  as  I 
used  when  a  boy.  I  believe  you  were  the  only 
being  I  ever  did  mind  implicitly  in  those  days." 
They  both  laughed. 

"Yue  and  Donald  did  have  right  good  times/* 
she  said. 


Old  Friendships  73 

Her  mother  sat  in  a  large  cushioned  chair  by  an 
open  window,  where  the  honeysuckle  and  matri- 
mony vines  floated  in,  with  her  hands  folded  in 
her  lap,  and  her  eyes  closed. 

*'  Ma  is  asleep,"  said  Miss  Katherine,  softly. 

*'  No,"  said  the  old  lady,  sitting  erect.  "  Who  is 
with  you,  Katherine  ?  "  Her  eyes  were  turned  toward 
them.  John  never  would  have  thought  her  blind 
but  for  a  turn  of  the  head  as  if  she  were  listening 
rather  than  seeing. 

John  came  close  to  her  chair.  **  It  is  the  boy 
who  used  to  come  to  your  house  with  Donald  and 
turn  everything  topsy-turvy,  who  wore  your  wed- 
ding-dress in  a  pantomime,  who  used  to  play  ghost 
at  midnight  to  frighten  the  negroes;  the  boy  who 
used  to  drop  in  on  you  at  five  in  the  morning 
from  a  coon  hunt,  draggled  and  tired  and  hun= 
grier  than  the  coon  himself,  because  he  did  not 
want  to  go  home  and  be  reprimanded  by  his 
mother.  Have  you  still  a  warm  place  for  him  in 
your  heart?  " 

She  rose,  trembling  a  little.  '*  I  know  the  voice," 
she  said,  "  but  it  is  not  the  boy's  voice,  it  is  the 
voice  of  his  father." 

"  It  is  John  Mahshall,  ma,"  said  Miss  Katherine. 

"  It  is  the  general,"  said  the  old  lady. 

John  took  one  soft  hand  in  his,  and  she  passed 
the  other  lightly  over  his  face  and  through  his  hair, 
then  sank  back  in  her  great-chair  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

Katherine  placed  a  chair  for  their  guest.  "  Why, 
ma,"  she  said,  "  ar'n't  yue  going  tue  give  John  a 
welcome?" 


74      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Clever  Katherinc  !  She  knew  how  to  keep  her 
charge  from  sad  thoughts,  by  rousing  her  to  her 
duties  as  hostess.  These  duties,  with  loving  tact, 
she  had  never  usurped.  She  would  manage  the 
house,  would  labor,  contrive,  and  save,  but  it  was 
the  mother  who  received  and  entertained,  and  led 
in  conversation.  The  delight  of  being  herself  the 
hostess,  so  dear  to  woman's  heart,  was  never  taken 
from  her.  Now  she  put  aside  the  recollections  that 
overwhelmed  her,  and  spoke  again. 

''For  your  own  sake,  John,  for  your  father's  and 
Donald's,  you  are  thrice  welcome.  Are  you  near?  " 
She  touched  the  arm  of  his  chair.  '*  It  is  useless 
to  mourn,  or  wish  to  see  you.  It  is  a  pleasure  to 
hear  your  voice,  and  if  you  resemble  your  father 
as  much  in  your  appearance,  it  is  as  if  I  saw  you." 

Her  tongue  was  not  so  strongly  tinctured  with 
dialect  as  was  her  daus^hter's. 

*'Do  you  remember  father  so  well?" 

"As  if  I  saw  him  an  hour  ago.  You  must  be 
like  him,  though  your  hair  curls  closer  and  thicker. 
Are  your  eyes  blue?  " 

John  laughed  and  turned  to  Katherine.  '*  They 
are  party-colored ;  one  is  blue  and  the  other  half 
brown,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  I  had  forgotten  that,  but  it  is  not  so  notice- 
able now,"  said  Katherine. 

"  I  had  not,"  said  her  mother. 

With  a  quiet  smile  of  understanding  with  Mar- 
shall, Katherine  left  the  room.  She  went  to  look 
after  the  lunch.  Her  mother  heard  the  latch  click. 
''  Katherine,"  she  called. 

*'  Yes,  ma," 


Old  Friendships  75 

"  Give  John  Donald's  old  room,  daughter," 

"  Yes,  ma." 

**  And,  Katherine,"  her  mother  lifted  her  voice  a 
little,  but  she  was  gone. 

"  Shall  I  call  her  back?"  asked  John. 

"  No,  she  never  makes  a  mistake.  Now,"  she 
turned  her  sightless  eyes  on  him  as  if  she  would 
look  him  through,  —  *'  Now,  John,  tell  me  about 
yourself.     Is  your  mother  living?" 

'*  Indeed  yes,  and  a  lively  little  mother  she  is. 
She  does  n't  grow  old.  She  flies  back  and  forth 
between  New  Orleans  and  New  York,  —  always 
takes  Marguerite  with  her.  She  loves  society,  the 
theatre,  and  gay  times  as  well  as  Marguerite  does. 
During  the  severest  weather  she  goes  to  Cuba,  and 
protests  she  loves  Cuba  best  of  all." 

"  No,  she  will  never  grow  old  until  she  drops 
into  the  grave,"  said  the  blind  woman,  placidly. 
**  Yet  she  is  older  than  I.     Who  is  Marguerite?" 

**  She  is  mother's  ward.  Mother  is  the  only  one 
living  who  is  any  kin  to  her,  except  me  of  course, 
in  a  very  distant  way.     She  is  an  heiress." 

"  Tell  me  about  her." 

*'  Mother  loves  her  dearly." 

"  Ah,  but  tell  me  about  her,"  persisted  his  old 
friend.     "  What  is  Marguerite  like?" 

"Like?"  he  laughed.  **  I  really  wonder  what 
she  is  like !  She  is  called  beautiful,  —  artists 
say  so.  I  don't  care  for  that  dark  style.  She  is 
not  tall,  but  she  is  a  shapely  little  thing,  and  she 
has  dimples  and  pretty  little  perfect  teeth.  Her 
eyes  would  be  called  black  if  they  were  not  so 
large.     Oh,  I   can't  describe  her.     She  is,  frankly, 


76      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

the    most  fascinating   little  piece  you  ever  looked 
at,  though." 

His  companion  laughed.  *'  I  think  I  can  help 
you,"  she  said.  "  She  has  a  little  flush  in  her  cheeks, 
and  her  mouth  is  full  and  inclined  to  pout,  but 
beautiful,  nevertheless." 

**  Oh,  yes,  of  course  she  is  beautiful,  she  must  be." 

"  And  her  hair  is  luxuriant,  and  curling,  and  black 
as  night." 

**  Not  curling,  straight  as  an  Indian's;  but  she 
dresses  it  charmingly." 

**  She  is  not  as  beautiful  as  her  mother,  T  judge." 

**  You  knew  her  mother?  But  of  course  you 
must  have  known  mother's  friends.  I  have  lived 
so  apart  from  her  that  they  are  mostly  strangers 
to  me." 

**  Ah,  yes."  The  old  lady's  face  brightened  ;  she 
was  living  again  some  of  the  scenes  of  her  young 
womanhood.  "  She  was  the  loveliest  woman  I  ever 
saw,  —  a  little  Cuban  of  very  aristocratic  family. 
She  spoke  little  English,  and  talked  with  your 
mother  in  Spanish.  A  young  Scotchman,  a  friend 
of  your  father's  who  used  to  visit  at  our  house,  fell 
in  love  with  her,  poor  fellow,  and  wooed  her  per- 
sistently with  his  great  blue  eyes.  I  shall  never 
forget  their  love-making.  He  tried  to  learn  Spanish, 
and  she  spoke  to  him  in  the  prettiest  bad  English. 
They  were  married  at  your  father's  house,  and  he 
took  her  to  Scotland,  but  the  climate  there  was  too 
severe  for  her,  and  he  carried  her  back  to  Cuba, 
bringing  her  here  every  summer.  But  he  could  n't 
keep  her.  She  died,  leaving  him  only  the  little 
Marguerite   and  a  broken  heart.     I  have  held  her 


Old  Friendships  77 

baby  in  my  arms  many  a  time,  but  she  can't  be  as 
beautiful  as  her  mother." 

''  Marguerite  has  been  sadly  spoiled,"  said  John,  at 
length.  "  She  was  educated  in  a  convent  until  she 
was  seventeen,  and  since  that  time  mother  has 
petted  and  indulged  her  atrociously.  You  must  tell 
me  about  my  father,  Mrs.  Wells.  I  know  too  little 
of  him.  He  was  such  a  busy,  absorbed  man,  as  I 
remember  him." 

"  A  busy  man,  year  in  and  year  out.  He  was 
for  waiting  and  maintaining  peace,  but  when  the  war 
really  came  he  was  one  of  the  first  at  the  front, 
strong  for  our  Southern  principles,  stanch  and 
true.  A  more  gallant  soldier  never  wore  our 
uniform." 

"  And  I  left  home  before  that,  and  never  saw 
father  again.  Why  did  he  send  me  to  Uncle  Darius, 
I  wonder?  I  might  have  entered  the  army  with  him. 
Many  a  boy  went  at  fifteen,  and  I  was  well  grown. 
Mother  never  was  pleased  that  I  was  sent  from 
home." 

"  Your  father  did  what  he  thought  best  for  you. 
The  war  did  n't  break  out  until  a  year  later,  but  he 
had  begun  to  fear  it,  and  spent  that  whole  year  in 
Washington.  He  hoped  it  might  be  averted.  He 
spent  a  day  with  us  just  before  his  last  battle.  I 
heard  him  say  to  the  colonel,  —  my  colonel  was  at 
home  with  a  wound  —  "  She  paused  a  moment,  and 
then  resumed :  **  I  heard  him  say,  '  My  boy  is  safe, 
thank  God,  and  in  good  hands.  If  I  never  come 
out  from  our  next  engagement,  there  will  be  no  more 
need  of  me  in  the  world.  We  are  certainly  leading 
a  forlorn  hope.*     He  was  sad  that  day.     Two  weeks 


78      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

later  he  lay  on  the  field,  shot  through  the  heart. 
The  colonel  died  on  the  same  day,  but  that  was 
different.  He  died  in  his  bed,  with  Katherine  and 
me  by  his  side.  Your  father  had  no  one;  but 
then  —  "  She  was  silent  again.  John  went  to  the 
window,  and  pulling  a  sprig  of  honeysuckle  tore 
it  to  bits.  **  No,"  she  continued,  **  your  father 
knew  best.  War  is  terrible.  God  save  us  from  it 
forever.  You  would  have  been  an  added  burden, 
and  he  had  enough.  We  could  scarcely  feed  our 
troops,  let  alone  clothe  them." 

Katherine  came  in  with  a  pretty  flush  in  her 
cheeks.  ''  Come  tue  luncheon,"  she  said  cheerily. 
'*  Ma,  bring  John  out,  please.  Gertrude,  step  spry 
now;   yue  ah  so  slow,  child." 

Marshall  lingered  after  lunch,  chatting  with  the  two 
lonely  women,  and  then  left  promising  to  return  in 
the  evening. 

"Gabe  shall  go  tue  Scrapp's  foh  youa  boxes,"  said 
Katherine.  "  He  's  a  no  'count  niggah,  like  all  the 
young  lot,  but  we  keep  him  foh  his  ma's  sake.  She 
takes  on  so  when  we  make  out  tue  discha'ge  him." 


CHAPTER   V 
THE   NEW   BOARDING-HOUSE 

PORTIA  VAN  OSTADE  stood  in  her  mother's 
room  arranging  her  tumbled  hair.  Her  hat 
was  thrown  carelessly  aside  and  her  cheeks  glowed 
with  exercise,  but  she  seemed  excited  and  nervous. 

"Portia,  you  are  overworking,  I  see  it,"  said 
her  mother,  anxiously.  "  Lie  down  on  my  bed, 
child." 

Portia  gathered  her  long  hair  deftly  in  one  hand 
and  drew  it  to  the  crown  of  her  shapely  little  head. 
"  No,  mamma  deary,  I  am  just  frightened  a  bit, 
that  's  all.  Now  don't  worry.  I  '11  tell  you  about 
it.  I  took  those  napkins  to  old  Clarissa  to  mend  — 
and,  by  the  way,  don't  let  me  forget  to  tell  you 
what  happened  while  I  was  there;  I  will  tell  this 
first  —  and  coming  home  I  went  down  under  that 
old  bridge  by  the  mill  for  ferns  to  decorate  the 
dining-room  with  this  evening.  You  remember 
there  are  great  shelving  rocks  piled  up  on  one 
side;  well,  all  at  once  my  heart  gave  a  thump, 
right  in  my  throat,  and  I  felt  such  a  queer  creep- 
ing sensation  all  over  me,  as  if  some  awful  thing 
were  near;  and  I  looked  up,  and  right  above  me, 
crouching  in  a  kind  of  cleft  of  those  rocks,  was  the 
wildest,  wickedest  looking  creature  I  ever  saw, 
peering  down  at  me.  He  was  a  negro,  and  he  held 
a  stone  as  large  as  my  head,  as  if  he  were  going  to 

79 


8o    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

hurl  it  at  me.  I  couldn't  scream,  I  just  stood  still 
and  looked  into  his  terrible  bloodshot  eyes,  and  he 
looked  at  me.  Everything  was  so  still,  as  if  there 
were  no  one  in  the  world  to  help  me.  I  dared  not 
move,  lest  that  should  break  the  spell  and  he  would 
throw;  but  he  must  have  been  listening,  for  there 
came  a  clatter  of  hoofs  over  the  bridge,  and  he  dis- 
appeared into  the  gray  rocks  as  if  he  were  part  of 
them.  Then  how  I  screamed !  Then  Josephus, 
who  did  the  teaming  for  us,  looked  over  the  bridge, 
and  called,  '  Hi,  Miss  Po'tia,  dat  yo'  done  hollah .? ' 
It  all  happened  in  a  moment,  but  it  seemed  an  age 
of  agony.  Even  when  he  called  I  could  n't  speak. 
He  came  down  and  took  me  in  his  arms,  and  car- 
ried me  bodily  up  that  steep  path  and  set  me  on 
the  bridge,  and  then  went  back  for  my  ferns  — 
good-hearted  fellow !  —  I  have  them  in  water,  a 
great  tubful.  He  left  his  mule  at  the  mill  and 
came  all  the  way  home  with  me.  He  has  gone 
back  for  it  now,  and  will  ride  into  Patterson  and 
tell  the  sheriff.  He  said,  '  Dat  Pete  Gunn,  sho', 
wha'  done  kill  de  ol'  woman  up  de  mountain.'  " 

"Now,  Portia,  this  is  wrong.  Do  you  never  go 
alone  again  in  this  awful  country,  where  murders 
are  committed  in  broad  daylight." 

"  Oh,  that  was  away  off  in  a  lone  place  in  the 
mountain,   mamma." 

"  It  was  done,  Portia,  and  you  must  take  some 
one  with  you  when  you  wish  to  go  off  on  your 
tramps." 

"Very  well,  I  will  invite  one  of  the  boarders. 
Usually  some  would  like  to  go,  — or  I  can  take 
Lucyleese. " 


The  New  Boarding-house  8i 

"  Lucyleese !  That  child  would  be  of  no  service 
in  the  world.     You  should  take  Alexander. " 

"  She  has  a  screech  that  would  scare  the  breath 
out  of  a  —  a  —  '  squinch  owel, '  as  she  calls  it,  and 
then  she  is  great  fun ;  only  I  do  love  to  be  alone 
sometimes  these  busy  days." 

"Then  you  must  lock  yourself  in  your  room, 
where  you  will  be  safe." 

Portia  laughed  merrily.  "  Go  off  and  have  the 
sulks  like  a  baby,"  she  said.  "But  don't  be 
troubled;  I  promise  not  to  do  this  again."  She 
patted  and  poked  the  fluffy  mass  of  hair  rolling  up 
from  her  forehead,  scrutinized  the  newly  adjusted 
coiffure  in  the  mirror,  turning  her  head  this  way 
and  that  like  a  bird  preparing  to  sing,  then  dropped 
at  Mrs.  Van  Ostade's  feet,  and  laid  her  head,  care- 
less of  consequences,  in  her  mother's  lap. 

The  invalid  stroked  delicately  her  daughter's 
forehead  and  cheek  and  full  white  throat. 

,  "  Oh,  mamma,  your  magic  hand  !  It  brushes  my 
nervousness  away.  I  am  sure  he  would  have  killed 
me  if  Josephus  had  not  come ;  but  now  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  something  pleasanter,  only  a  little  sad 
too.  Old  Clarissa  was  showing  me  her  keepsakes, 
which  she  had  so  carefully  put  away,  that  she  said 
her  *  young  mars'r  had  given  her  befo'  he  went 
No'f  to  lib  wid  he's  paw's  twin  brudder, '  when  a 
nice  young  man  came  to  the  door  and  stood  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  walked  in,  and  seeing  me  stopped 
again.  She  looked  at  him,  and  you  know  she  is 
lame  and  slow,  but  all  at  once  her  face  lighted  up 
with    an    expression  —  well,     such    as    she    might 

wear  in  heaven,  and  she  hobbled  a  step  forward, 
6 


§2    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

and  then  dropped  her  cane  and  held  out  both 
arms  toward  him  and  fell.  She  had  fainted.  In 
trying  to  catch  her  we  both  sprang  forward  into 
each  other's  arms  in  a  way  that  would  have  been 
funny  but  for  our  anxiety." 

"  You  always  see  funny  things  at  the  most  appall- 
ing times." 

"I  know.  It's  dreadful.  'The  step  from  the 
sublime  to  the  ridiculous  '  is  one  of  the  figures  in 
my  dance  of  life.  Is  that  the  Dutch  in  me  ?  Was 
papa  like  that  .-*  " 

"Yes,  very  like.      But  go  on." 

"Where  's  grandfather.?  "  Portia  started  up  with 
a  frightened  look. 

"  He  is  with  Mrs.  Percy  and  the  children,  and  Alex- 
ander is  driving.      You  are  all  unstrung,  child." 

"No,  mamma;  but  the  same  thing  might  happen 
to  him,  only  worse." 

"  You  must  neither  of  you  go  about  alone,  or 
any  one." 

"When  that  murderer  is  taken,  it  will  be  all 
right.      There  is  no  more  peaceful  place." 

"Go  on,  dear,  don't  leave  Clarissa  on  the  floor 
any  longer." 

"  He  took  her  up  as  tenderly  as  if  she  were  his 
mother,  and  would  have  laid  her  on  the  bed  she  is 
so  proud  of,  but  that  would  have  broken  her  heart ; 
so  I  had  him  place  her  in  her  large  chair,  and  he 
tipped  it  back  while  I  brought  water  and  bathed 
her  head. 

"  '  She  used  to  be  my  mammy  when  I  was  a 
child,'  he  said;  and  then  I  knew  who  he  was,  and 
told  him  where  I  lived,  and  when  she  was  herself 


The  New  Boarding-house  83 

again  I  left.  Poor  old  woman!  her  look  into  his 
face  was  pathetic.  *  I  done  waited  fo'  yo'  home- 
comin'  mighty  long  time,  honey,  an'  now  I  done 
los'  yo',  sho','  she  said.  *  Yo'  look  dat  like  yo' 
paw,  w'en  he  young  man  an'  come  an'  paid  de 
money  fo'  me  an'  tuk  me  home  dat  time,  like  he 
done  come  back  he's  own  se'f  I  declar' ;  hit  nerved 
me  so,  hit  tuk  my  strenk  cl'ar  'way.'  Oh, 
mamma,  what  an  awful  thing  slavery  must  have 
been !     Do  you  suppose  he  saw  it  as  I  did  ?  " 

"  I  assume  not.  The  values  of  life  are  all 
changed,   sometimes,   by  education." 

"I  wonder  if  his  ideas  would  be  more  like  ours, 
being  educated  for  the  most  part  in  the  North," 
said  Portia,  dreamily.    "  I  wonder  —  "    She  stopped. 

"What  are  you  wondering,  daughter.-*  " 

"  I  was  only  thinking.  I  often  wonder  about 
those  who  lived  here  then.  If  his  mother  is  liv- 
ing, what  would  she  think  if  she  should  come  and 
find  her  old  home  turned  into  a  boarding-house  and 
kept  by  Northerners  .-*  She  used  to  perfectly  hate 
us,   of  course." 

"  She  might  think  us  low-bred,  and  treat  us 
accordingly." 

"Dear  little  mother,"  said  Portia,  laughing,  and 
kissing  her. 

As  Portia  entered  the  huge  old  dining-room  with 
her  guests  that  evening,  she  looked  with  a  shud- 
der at  the  ferns  she  had  arranged  so  charmingly, 
but  she  told  no  one  of  her  adventure,  and  showed 
no  trace  of  a2:itation  save  in  her  heis-htened  color. 
Her  few  guests  were  all  pleasant  and  congenial. 
Thus  far   her  venture  had   not  been  disagreeable. 


84    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Mr.  Ridgeway  remarked  on  the  chill  in  the  room, 
owing  to  the  brick  floor.  "  I  believe  these  bricks 
gather  dampness,"  he  said. 

"Won't  you  light  the  fire,  grandfather?"  said 
Portia.  Materials  for  one  were  laid  in  the  great 
fireplace,  built  of  red  brick  like  the  floor.  "  It  is 
pleasanter,  and  mamma  is  coming  down." 

Mrs.  Van  Ostade's  chair  and  cushion  were  placed 
at  the  table  nearest  the  fire,  where  Portia  sat  at  the 
head.  Mr.  Ridgeway  took  the  head  of  the  other 
table,  while  Portia  poured  the  tea  for  both.  With 
Portia  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percy  and  the  children, 
and  a  much  travelled,  silky-haired  artist  from  New 
York;  a  middle-aged  woman  of  means,  from  Chi- 
cago, and  her  daughter,  also  middle-aged;  an 
elderly  gentleman  of  wealth,  whose  gallant  and 
open  admiration  for  Portia  embarrassed  her  and 
amused  the  rest;  and  a  merry  little  Englishman 
travelling  for  pleasure.  It  was  surmised,  in  con- 
fidential aside  to  the  elderly  gentleman  by  the 
lady  from  Chicago,  that  he  was  really  looking  up 
some  fabulous  mine  for  some  equally  fabulous  and 
monstrous  London  syndicate. 

At  Mr.  Ridgeway' s  table  were  two  young  men 
with  work-stained  hands  and  ruddy,  open  coun- 
tenances. They  were  starting  a  peach  plantation 
on  a  mountain-side.  Enterprising  and  strong,  they 
carried  an  air  of  good  cheer  which  was  not  lost  on 
the  sensitive  nerves  of  their  host.  With  them  were 
seated  Mrs.  Barry  and  her  four-year-old  daughter 
and  a  nurse,  and  gentle,  elderly  Miss  Milbourn, 
who  wore  a  lace  cap  and  had  a  sweet  matronly  air, 
and  her  younger  friend,  Mrs.  Clare,  who  had  come 


The  New  Boarding-house  85 

to  the  wilds  of  North  Carolina  to  battle  alone  with 
an  inherent  taint  of  consumption.  These  and  a 
serving-maid  constituted  the  dramatis  persoiics  of 
the  dining-room. 

Mrs.  Barry  was  of  German  descent,  with  large 
bright  eyes  and  luxuriant  dark  hair,  worn  low  on  her 
shapely  head,  in  a  heavy,  loose  coil.  Her  clear, 
ringing  voice  was  loud,  but  not  unpleasant.  As  she 
settled  herself  voluminously  at  table,  she  snatched 
up  three  letters  addressed  in  the  same  hand,  and 
waving  them  triumphantly  over  her  head,  cried : 
"  Ha,  ha !  What  did  I  say  ?  Three  !  Some  awkward 
delay  in  the  mails  has  brought  these  all  at  once, 
but  I  knew  they  would  come.  He  always  writes 
every  day.     Was  there  ever  a  husband  like  mine.-*  "  ■-"' 

"One,"  said  little  Mrs.  Clare,  timidly,  display- 
ing a  bulging  envelope  addressed  in  a  heavy  square 
hand  to  Mrs.  La  Mott  Clare. 

"Only  yours  puts  several  letters  in  one,"  said 
Miss  Milbourn,   gently. 

"Ah,  but  that  is  not  like  being  thought  of  every  ^r^M  Z  ^ 
single  day,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.    Barry,   content- ,y^?^^  (^ 
edly  turning  her  attention  to  the  large  slice  of  roasts 
before  her.  ^- 

"  Portia,  where  did  you  find  these  lovely  ferns?  " 
said  Mrs.  Percy. 

"Think  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Keller,  the  middle-aged 
lady  from  Chicago.  "  Such  large  growths  at  this 
season !  " 

"Think  of  it,"  said  the  middle-aged-looking 
daughter,  who  always  echoed  her  mother,  "and 
at  this  season  too !  Why,  the  snow  is  hardly  off 
the  ground  with  us." 


86    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  I  found  them  under  the  bridge  by  that  tumble- 
down gristmill  where  the  negroes  take  their 
corn,"  said  Portia. 

**  I  have  it  in  one  of  my  sketches,"  said  the  artist. 

"Oh,  the  one  you  showed  me  yesterday,"  said 
Mrs.  Barry. 

"No.  That  is  a  sawmill,  and  has  an  undershot 
wheel,   not  nearly  so  picturesque." 

"Yes,"  said  Portia,  "the  overshot  wheel  is  better 
to  sketch.      It  's  clumsier  and  more  primitive." 

"But  when  it  comes  to  business,  it's  a  pretty 
slow  affair,"  said  one  of  the  enterprising  young 
men.     "Ever  see  the  miller?" 

"Yes,"  said  Portia. 

"  He  's  a  queer  chap,  —  slow  as  his  mill." 

"  He  keeps  something  there  beside  corn  meal,"     > 
said  the  other  young  man,   with  a  laugh.    '^^-**'^  ^-^^vv 

"Ah,"  said  the  elderly  gentleman,  smiling,  "you 
have  means  of  knowing.^  " 

"  I  tracked  a  few  old  codgers  there  and  made  a 
discovery.  He  's  in  with  these  mountain  fellows. 
He  's  a  sharp  one,  —  innocent  as  a  baby." 

"Richard  has  mistaken  his  calling,"  exclaimed 
his  partner.  "Raising  peaches  on  a  mountain 
hasn't  enough  variety  in  it  to  suit  him." 

"What!  Are  there  real  moonshiners  here."*" 
cried  Mrs.    Barry. 

"And  w'at  might  they  be,  —  moonshiners?  "  in- 
quired the  Englishman,  Mr.  Betts. 
'  "Illicit  distillers,"  replied  Mr.  Ridgeway. 
"  Some  of  these  mountaineers  make  corn  whiskey, 
and  smuggle  it  on  the  market  without  paying 
government  tax  on  it." 


The  New  Boarding-house  87 

"  Ah,  I  see.  So  they  do  that  here.  It  certainly 
is  interesting  to  know." 

"  You  must  not  give  Mr.  Betts  such  information, 
grandfather,"  said  Portia.  "He  may  write  a  geog- 
raphy for  little  English  children,  and  tell  them  the 
principal  industry  of  the  mountainous  regions  of 
the  United  States  is  illicit  distilling  of  whiskey." 

"  Oh,  now,  you  are  rather  'ard  on  me,  you  know, 
I  must  say." 

"No,  Mr.  Betts'  book  will  be  on  geology,"  said 
Mrs.  Keller.  "  You  should  have  seen  him  unload 
the  stones  from  his  pocket  this  afternoon." 

"  You  should  have  seen  him, "  echoed  her  daughter. 

"Do  you  find  any  ore,  Mr.  Betts .^"  queried  the 
artist. 

"Not  to  speak  of  I  'ave  n't,  but  they  tell  me  this 
is  the  oldest  rock  formation  in  the  world,  you 
know,  and  it  is  interesting  to  trace  the  history  of 
the  place  in  the  stones.  And  they  do  tell  me 
fossils  'ave  been  found  here,  w'ich  is  strange,  very 
strange,  you  know,  and  I  find  a  curious  mixture  of 
vitreous  and  volcanic  rock,  plainly  volcanic,  to- 
gether with  stratified  rock  of  a  water  formation, 
and  limestone  character,  you  know.  Now,  'ow 
came  these  all  to  be  so  thrown  together,  so  far 
inland.?" 

"  Ah,  you  must  answer  that,  Mr.  Betts ;  we  cer- 
tainly can't,  not  I  at  least,"  said  the  elderly 
gentleman. 

"Your  question  will  hardly  be  answered  for  a 
generation  to  come,  I  fear,"  said  Mr.  Ridgeway. 
"This  region  affords  an  interesting  field  for  nat- 
uralists, I  think." 


88    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"It  is  as  full  of  poetry  as  it  is  of  scientific 
interest,"  said  the  artist.  "We  who  look  on  the 
externals  of  things  find  nature  glorious  here." 

"I  think,"  said  Portia,  refilling  the  artist's  cup 
with  tea,  "the  hardest  things  to  reconcile  with 
each  other  are  just  simple,  plain  facts.  The 
scientists  are  continually  stating  facts,  and  then 
overturning  them  with  other  facts,  and  then  find- 
ing still  others  that  clash  with  these,  and  all  seems 
out  of  tune,  and  still  the  turmoil  goes  on,  and 
there  is  no  end." 

"You  are  right,  Miss  Van  Ostade,"  said  the 
artist.  "Your  profession  and  mine  are,  after  all, 
the  only  ones  that  search  out  the  harmonies.  The 
realm  of  Music  and  the  domain  of  Art,  they  are 
really  one." 

"But  mine  is  often  out  of  tune,  though,"  said 
she. 

"Not  when  you  are  its  exponent,  Miss  Van 
Ostade,   never,"  said  the  elderly  gentleman. 

Portia  shook  her  head,  laughing.  Mrs.  Keller 
exchanged  glances  with  her  daughter.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Percy  were  privately  discussing  the  unde- 
sirability  of  allowing  the  children  the  full  bill  of 
fare,  and  lost  this  bit  of  table  talk.  The  old  maid 
looked  up  and  spoke  in  her  quiet  voice. 

"I  think  herein  lies  an  evidence  of  the  Omnipo- 
tent mind,  overruling  and  controlling,  bringing 
harmony  out  of  these  stubborn  facts;  so  that  Mr. 
Held  exclaims,  '  This  region  is  poetic,  and  nature 
is  glorious,'  and  Miss  Van  Ostade  can  order  the 
sometimes  discordant  waves  of  sound  into  such 
perfection  of  harmony  and  melody  that  we  delight 


The  New  Boarding-house  89 

in  it.  Harmony  and  beauty  are  part  of  the  facts, 
or  we  should  never  find  them." 

Mrs.  Percy's  face  lighted  up.  "Miss  Milbourn 
touches  the  keynote  of  the  universe,"  said  Mr. 
Ridgeway. 

"  And  where  there  is  a  keynote  there  may  be 
harmony,"  said  she. 

Poor  Johnny  Percy,  who  had  been  denied  his 
dessert  and  had  only  a  few  nuts  in  his  chubby  fist 
to  crack  at  his  leisure,  yawned  audibly.  Miss 
Milbourn   laughed. 

"Why,  Johnny!"  said  his  mother. 

" '  Ard  nuts  to  crack,  aren't  they,  little  man.?" 
said  Mr.   Betts. 

"  Naw.  I  can  do  it;  take  a  stone,"  said  the 
imperturbable  youngster,  gravely  wondering  where 
the  laugh  came  in. 

"That's  what  I  've  been  trying  to  crack  them 
with,  and  failed,"  said  the  Englishman,  slapping 
his  knees  heartily. 

"That's  right,  sonny,  stick  to  nuts  you  can 
crack  and  you  '11  get  on,"  said  his  father. 

"But  don't  use  your  teeth,  child,"  said  his 
mother,  as  he  set  a  filbejij:  between  his  sturdy  little 
jaws. 

A  clang  sounded  from  the  great  brass  knocker  at 
the  front  door  as  they  rose  from  the  table,  — an  un- 
usual event  of  an  evening.  The  neighbors,  in  their 
kindly  Southern  way,  had  begun  to  show  the  family 
some  attention ;  but  as  the  neighbors  were  far  be- 
tween, their  visits  were  generally  in  the  afternoon. 

"I  wonder  if  Miss  Van  Ostade  is  to  have  a  caller 
this  evening,"  said  Mrs.  Keller  in  an  aside  to  her 


90    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

daughter,  as  she  shook  out  her  heavy  silken  skirts. 
The  trim  waiting-maid  was  handing  her  mistress  a 
card. 

They  all  swept  out  of  the  dining-room,  up  the 
broad  stair,  into  the  long,  dimly  lighted  hall.  Mr. 
Betts  pranced  at  the  head,  with  little  Juliet  on  his 
shoulder,  followed  by  the  screaming  children,  and 
Mr.  Ridge  way,  with  his  daughter  on  his  arm, 
brought  up  the  rear.  A  blazing  fire  of  logs  and 
pine  branches  in  a  huge  red  brick  fireplace  filling 
one  end  of  the  great  old-fashioned  drawing-room, 
threw  ruddy,  quivering  light  over  cracked  walls, 
and  plain,  comfortable,  modern  furniture.  Mrs. 
Clare  seated  herself  at  the  piano  and  played  a 
lively  galop.  That  and  the  dancing  firelight 
wrought  a  contagion  of  merriment,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment the  party,  old  and  young,  were  flying  over 
the  smooth  walnut-colored  floor  in  time  to  the 
music,  while  peals  of  hilarious  laughter  from  the 
children  re-echoed  through  the  vast  empty  halls. 
Portia  entered  a  small,  firelit  room  opening  from 
the  other  side  of  the  hall,  used  by  the  guests  as  a 
reading-room.  Here  she  found  John  Marshall 
awaiting  her. 

"  I  have  hastened  to  accept  your  invitation  to 
call,"  he  said. 

"Ah,  how  good  of  you!"  She  hesitated,  flush- 
ing slightly.  Why  had  she  said  *' how  good"? 
she  thought;  "he  will  mistake  my  meaning." 
She  hastened  to  explain.  "  Of  course,  everything 
is  so  changed,  I  feared  —  I  thought  —  even  if  it 
might  be  painful  to  you,  you  might  like  to  see 
the  old  place  again." 


The  New  Boarding-house  91 

"Please  don't  think  it  is  the  place  only  I  come 
to  see.  After  our  odd  meeting  this  afternoon  it  is 
yourself."  He  also  spoke  a  bit  nervously,  and  not 
as  he  had  intended,  and  hastened  to  add  :  "  I  wanted 
to  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  old  Clarissa. 
She  was  one  of  the  few  faithful  servants  in  the 
past." 

"She  certainly  is  loyal  to  your  family.  When 
did  you  return  to  Patterson,   Mr.    Marshall  ? " 

He  laughed.  "Return  to  Patterson.?  I  protest. 
I  have  returned  to  the  soil  on  which  it  stands,  and 
to  these  grand  old  hills.  There  was  no  Patterson 
in  my  day  here. "  Portia  sat  gravely  looking  into 
the  fire,  and  he  watched  her  face  a  moment  as  the 
light  played  over  it  with  rosy  tint,  and  resumed  : 
"  I  arrived  at  dusk  last  evening,  and  to-day  have 
been  roamino;  about  seeking  old  friends.  It  is  as 
you  say,  yet  everything  is  not  changed  ;  the  everlast- 
ing hills  are  unchangeable.  I  had  forgotten  how 
beautiful  they  are,  if  I  ever  knew.  Boys  don't  think 
deeply  on  the  beauties  of  nature,  you  know. " 

Portia's  face  lighted  with  a  smile.  She  looked 
up,  and  their  eyes  met.  "  Perhaps  you  are  one  of 
those  happy  natures  who  never  look  wholly  on  the 
dark  side,"  she  said.  "But,  speaking  of  changes, 
I  was  thinking  only  of  this  particular  place,  — your 
old  home."  The  smile  faded  as  she  spoke,  and 
she  looked  gravely  into  the  fire  again.  John  was 
charmed  with  her  every  movement,  but  in  his 
heart  he  vaguely  wondered  who  the  singer  of  the 
evening  before  might  be. 

"Then  I  shall  disappoint  you,"  he  said.  "I  am 
very  prosaic,  or  —  what  shall  I  call  it?  —  lacking 


92       When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

in  sentiment  toward  this  old  place.  There  were 
others,  one  in  particular,  —  I  visited  it  this  morn- 
ing, —  which  I  used  to  love  more  than  this.  It  is 
very  shocking,  I  know,  and  shows  a  hardened  and 
villanous  nature,  but  true  it  is.  You  must  re- 
spect my  candor,  if  not  my  heart,  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  came  here  this  evening  with  a  feeling  of 
expectation  and  pleasure  in  the  —  pardon  me,  I 
won't  tell  all  my  thoughts,  but  among  them  was  no 
regret.  As  I  walked  up  the  drive,  I  thought  only 
in  a  vague  way  of  the  changes,  as  that  this  was 
gone,  or  that  grown  past  recognition,  and  since 
you  have  set  the  fountain  playing,  the  sound  of 
dropping  water  is  as  sweet  as  when  I  used  to  sit  on 
its  edge  with  a  row  of  mischievous  piccaninnies  and 
stir  up  the  gold  fish.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  find  the 
house  occupied  and  serving  some  useful  purpose, 
instead  of  falling  farther  into  decay." 

Portia  burst  into  a  merry  laugh. 

"Now,  Miss  Van  Ostade,  that  is  not  fair.  I 
was  willing  you  should  be  shocked,  but  to  laugh  —  " 

"  Indeed,  I  am  only  laughing  at  myself.  The 
light  of  your  good  sound  sense  shows  me  what  a 
sentimental  creature  I  have  been,  —  like  a  board- 
ing-school novel  girl.  Now  you  have  confessed, 
I  will  do  the  same,  and  you  may  laugh  at  me. 
Ever  since  our  unaccountable  encounter  this  after- 
noon I  have  been  filled  with  misgiving.  I  have 
dreaded  your  coming,  thinking  you  would  be  so 
pained  to  find  your  old  home  turned  into  —  of  all 
things  —  a  boarding-house,  that  you  would  detest 
us.  I  tried  to  contrast  its  past  beauty  with  its 
present  state  of  partly  resuscitated  decay,  and  to 


The  New  Boarding-house  93 

imagine  your  sadness  as  you  would  walk  up  the 
drive,  once  so  well  kept,  feeling  that  it  is  yours  no 
longer,  and  that  you  are  in  a  sense  shut  out  and  a 
stranger;  and  then  I  imagined  you  taking  note  of 
all  the  signs  of  past  neglect  and  general  dilapi- 
dation, until  I  was  positively  sad  myself,  and 
distraught  all  through  dinner,  and  was  half  embar- 
rassed by  my  own  thoughts  when  I  found  you 
were  actually  here  and  I  must  face  you,  and 
now  —  " 

"  And  now  to  discover  how  unpoetic  I  am,  with 
no  natural  feelings  ?     What  a  revulsion  !  " 

"Please   don't    mistake    me.      I    couldn't    help 
laughing  at  myself  for  constructing  an  unreal  situa- 
tion,  and   distressing   myself   as    if   it  were   real, 
before  knowing  anything  about  the  facts.      I  won- 
der,  do  we  ever  judge  our  fellow  creatures  at  all 
justly,  or  only  judge  our  own  unreal  fancies  about 
them,  which  we  set  up  and  call  our  fellow  creatures?" 
"Only  a  few  could  do  that,   Miss  Van  Ostade. 
Most  of   us  common  mortals  must  take  things  as 
we  find  them,  without  the  power  of  adding  thereto. 
What    is   beautiful    we   sometimes    lose    sight   of, 
seldom  that  which  is  not."     The  sound  of  laughter, 
subdued  by  distance  and  closed  doors,  came  to  him 
as  he  spoke,   and  he  rose  to  go.      "  I  am  keeping 
you   from    other   guests,"    he   said.      He   had    not 
accomplished   his   wish.      Who   was   the   singer  of 
the  night  before .-^     Might  it  be  the  hostess  herself.? 
"If   she  only  had  that  voice!"    he  thought.      "I 
have  disgraced   myself,   I  know,   but  may  I   come 
again.?     I  will  think  up,  in  the  mean  time,  reasons 
for  a  becoming  degree  of  melancholy,  and  so  prove 


94       When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

to  you  that  I  have  at  least  enough  sentiment  to 
connect  me  with  the  rest  of  the  human  family." 

"  Now  it  is  you  who  are  laughing  at  me.  Do 
not  go.  Coffee  is  being  served ;  won't  you  stay, 
and  allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  my  guests  ?  — 
unless  you  detest  Northerners,"  she  added  with  a 
quick  glance,  which  he  returned  in  kind. 

"  Detest  ?    I  adore  them. " 

"Then  I  can't  allow  you  to  go  until  you  have 
accepted  hospitality  here  at  least.  Please!  "  —  She 
led  the  way  into  the  drawing-room.  A  shout  of 
delight  greeted  them  as  she  opened  the  door.  It 
was  dear  little  music-loving  Juliet  who  pounced 
upon  her  thus  uncerem.oniously. 

"Oh,  Miss  Van  Ostade!  Please,  please  sing, 
Miss  Van  Ostade,    sing." 

The  formal  introductions  over,  John  found  him- 
self seated  in  pleasant  conversation  with  Mr. 
Ridgeway  and  his  daughter.  At  a  prettily  laid  tea- 
table  in  the  corner  near  the  piano,  Portia  poured 
the  fragrant  coffee.  It  was  passed  by  the  children, 
to  whom  this  was  an  especial  privilege,  after  which 
service  they  were  promptly  put  to  bed  by  the  nurse- 
maids,  unless  Juliet  could  persuade  their  mammas 
to  let  them  stay  longer  while  Portia  sang  to  them. 

"After  a  little,  deary,"  she  said  to  that  impor- 
tunate little  miss;  "when  I  have  finished  here. 
Now  you  may  carry  this  cup  to  Mr.  Marshall, 
and,  Johnny,  you  may  take  the  biscuit.  Carefully, 
little  man,  or  they  will  slide  onto  the  floor.  Don't 
look  at  Juliet,  look  at  your  own  tray." 

"  Donny  can't  carry  bi'kets,  he's  on'y  a  boy," 
said  his   little  sister    Helen,   watching  his  uncer- 


The  New  Boarding-house  95 

tain  course,  and  envious  of  the  honor  reposed 
in  him. 

"Can  too,"  shouted  the  belligerent,  looking 
back  at  her,  and  deftly  sliding  the  dainty  wa- 
fers, plate  and  all,  into  the  lap  of  the  lady  from 
Chicago. 

"Now,  now,"  cried  the  elderly  gentleman,  amid 
the  burst  of  laughter  which  followed.  "  That  is 
unkind,  to  take  them  all,   Mrs.   Keller." 

"Oh,  Johnny,"  cried  his  mother.  "Portia,  why 
do  you  trust  him.^  And  your  lovely  plate,  too! 
What  if  it  had  gone  on  the  floor.?  "  She  took  the 
tray  from  the  humbled  boy,  and  began  passing  it 
herself. 

"I  said  Donny  couldn't  pass  bi'kets,"  asserted 
Helen. 

"But  boys  can  learn  as  well  as  girls,"  said 
Portia,  passing  her  arm  around  the  affectionate 
little  piece  of  impetuosity,  who  had  tearfully  slunk 
back  to  her  chair,  well  knowing  where  to  find  com- 
fort. "Helen  may  pass  the  sugar."  She  placed 
the  pretty  blue  bowl  comfortably  in  the  chubby 
hands,  and  went  on  pouring  the  coffee  and  inter- 
ceding for  Johnny.  "  Please  let  him  try  once  more. 
It  won't  happen  again."  The  little  fellow's  face 
became  radiant,  while  two  tears,  one  on  either 
flushed  cheeky  were  pathetic,  and  the  tray  was 
placed  in  his  hands.  "Johnny  is  a  little  soldier, 
and  this  time  he  will  pay  attention  only  to  what 
he  is  doing." 

"Do  you  like  coffee  in  pretty  cups.'*"  said  the 
small  maiden,  Juliet,  as  she  paused  in  front  of 
Marshall. 


96      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"Indeed  I  do,  and  little  girls  too,"  he  replied. 

"Oh,  you  said  a  rhyme,"  she  cried,  as  he  took 
the  cup. 

"  Now  won't  you  sit  on  my  knee  while  I  drink  it, 
and  take  the  cup  back  for  me.?  " 

She  demurely  shook  her  head,  eying  him  gravely. 
"I  'm  not  'quainted  yet,"  she  said. 

"That's  so.  Then,  if  you'll  bring  Mr.  Ridge- 
way  his,  we  will  be  acquainted  when  you  come 
back,  and  you  can  sit  on  my  knee  while  Miss  Van 
Ostade  sings." 

She  nodded  assent,  and  danced  back  to  Portia's 
side. 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  hurry  up  an  acquaintance 
with  a  young  lady.?"  queried  Mr.  Ridgeway. 

"Certainly,  with  very  young  ones." 

"You  and  I  must  fight  a  duel,  then,"  said  Mr. 
Betts.      "You  have  stolen  my  young  lady." 

Conversation  was  going  on  all  over  the  room. 
Portia  heard  all,  but  kept  her  eyes  on  her  cups  and 
saucers.  Marshall  watched  her  without  appearing 
to  do  so. 

Mr.  Ridgeway  turned  and  spoke  quietly  to 
the  young  peach-planter,  whom  his  partner  had 
called  Richard.  "  Have  you  really  discovered 
signs  of  illicit  business  there  at  the  mill,  Mr. 
Button .? " 

"Signs!  It's  a  regular  whiskey  hole.  It  was 
Clark  there  at  the  station  who  put  me  on  the  track. 
He  hears  a  word  or  two  now  and  then  not  just 
intended  for  his  ears,  there  at  Scrapp's. " 

"Take  my  advice,  then.  Don't  let  it  be  known 
that  you  have  such  knowledge,  if  you  wish  to  go 


The  New  Boarding-house  97 

on  with  your  planting  instead  of  being  planted 
yourself.  I  was  sorry  to  hear  you  mention  it  even 
in  our  select  circle  this  evening.  There  are  slum- 
bering elements  here  you  would  best  beware  of. 
I  am  sure  of  it." 

"Guess  you're  right,"  said  the  younger  man, 
thoughtfully.  He  drew  something  from  an  inner 
pocket  which  Mr.  Ridgeway  took  and  looked  at  a 
moment,  and  then  returned  with  a  smile. 

"Ah,"  he  said  slowly.  "Yes,  it's  dangerous 
business,  though,   Mr.   Button." 

"  But  it  must  be  looked  after.  We  never  can 
make  anything  of  this  place  with  that  kind  of  open 
law-breaking  going  on." 

"  No,  surely  not.  Neither  can  we  afford  to  have 
such  young  fellows  as  you  killed  off." 

"Well,  I  may  not  use  this.  I  had  myself  ap- 
pointed because  I  happen  to  know  the  ropes.  We 
may  be  forced  to  clean  the  whole  thing  out  for  self- 
protection.  There  is  deviltry  enough  going  on 
about  election  time  without  free  whiskey." 

The  coffee  disposed  of,  and  the  cups  returned  to 
the  tea-table  by  the  small  carriers,  Portia  rose  to 
fulfil  her  promise  to  the  children.  Marshall  lifted 
the  dancing  Juliet  to  his  knee. 

"You  were  to  sit  here,  you  know,  while  Miss 
Van  Ostade  sings." 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  regret  it,"  said  Mrs.  Barry. 
"Juliet  never  stops  asking  questions." 

The  child  gravely  regarded  her  mother  a  mo- 
ment, then  said,  "  But  I  am  going  to  listen  now, 
mamma."  Then  turning  to  Marshall,  she  inquired 
in  a  half  whisper,  "  What  's  your  name  ?  "  He  drew 
7 


98      When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

the  midget  up  to  him  comfortably.  "John  is  my 
name.      Now  we  are  acquainted." 

She  nodded,  and,  pointing  with  a  dimpled  hand 
to  young  Master  Percy,  said:  "His  name  is  John, 
too,  only  we  call  him  Johnny.  He  is  rough  some- 
times.     Are  you  rough  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  hope  not.    Never  with  little  children." 

She  looked  into  his  face  once  again  seriously, 
and  then,  apparently  satisfied,  nestled  down,  and 
folded  her  hands  to  listen,  while  Portia's  rich  voice 
filled  the  room.  And  John.'*  John  was  satisfied. 
He  had  discovered  the  singer  of  the  evening  before. 
After  a  time  the  songs  for  the  little  ones  ceased, 
and  the  children  were  put  to  bed.  Conversation 
became  general  again.  The  guests  made  plans  for 
excursions  to  one  or  two  beautiful  waterfalls  in  the 
vicinity,  and  a  visit  was  proposed  to  a  little  log 
church  where  the  negroes  held  services  a  few 
miles  away.  John  was  invited  to  make  one  of  the 
party.  Then  Mrs.  Clare  and  Mrs.  Barry  played  a 
duet,  v^hich  was  followed  by  more  songs,  sometimes 
with  obligato  accompaniment  from  Mr.  Ridgeway's 
violin,  which  he  handled  not  strongly  but  with 
great  sweetness  and  grace.  The  selections  grew 
more  difficult.  Portia  sang  now  in  Italian,  now  in 
German,  and  at  last  in  plain  English  to  please 
Mr.   Betts. 

And  John  Marshall,  passionate  lover  of  music 
that  he  was,  was  satisfied. 


CHAPTER  VI 
HOPES   AND   PLANS 

THE  moonlight  covered  the  ground  at  Mar- 
shall's feet  with  a  wonderful  network  of 
shadows.  He  paused  in  his  rapid  walk  and  stretched 
out  his  arms  to  the  cool  night  air,  straightened  him- 
self to  his  full  height,  drew  in  a  deep  breath,  and 
said  to  himself,  "  At  last  I  have  found  her  —  my  girl 
of  the  bridge !  "  He  buttoned  his  coat  about  him- 
self as  if  he  had  her  secreted  in  an  inner  pocket. 
"  It  must  be  she.  No  other  could  be  so  like  my 
girl  of  the  German  bridge."  He  walked  on  thought- 
fully. Whichever  way  he  looked  he  still  saw  Por- 
tia's bright,  proud  head.  *'  Found  at  last,  in  the 
dilapidated,  forsaken,  dishonored  old  home,  keep- 
ing boarders,  and  —  "  he  drew  a  letter  from  his 
pocket,  turned  it  over  in  his  hand,  and  replaced  it. 
"  What  shall  I  do  if  mother  and  Marguerite  persist 
in  coming  on  ?  " 

"  Ma  's  gone  tue  bed,"  said  Miss  Katherine,  as  he 
entered.     '*  She  nevah  sits  up  aftah  eight." 

Miss  Katherine  had  been  reading  by  a  shaded 
lamp.  She  had  had  Gabriel  light  a  fire  to  make  the 
room  look  cheerful  to  John,  and  indeed  it  was  home- 
like enough  after  the  wretched  bedroom  at  Scrapp's. 
He  saw  around  him  the  same  furniture  he  and 
Donald  used  to  think  so  grand.  The  great  mahog- 
any sofa,  its  rags  now  decently  covered  by  knitted 

99 


lOO    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

and  crocheted  tidies,  would  have  held  twelve  such 
boys.  Now  he  settled  himself  comfortably  in  one 
corner  of  it. 

"  Miss  Katherine,  what  are  you  reading  ?  "  he 
asked. 

She  handed  him  a  little  old  leather-bound  volume 
of  Thomson's  "  Seasons."  He  turned  it  over  in  his 
hand,  but  all  he  saw  on  the  title  page  was  Portia 
Van  Ostade. 

"  Miss  Katherine,"  he  said  at  last,  *'  my  head  is 
full  of  schemes.  Come  over  here  on  the  sofa  and 
let  me  talk  to  you.  It  will  seem  like  old  times." 
So  she  settled  herself  in  the  other  corner,  as  he  had 
in  his,  and  they  chatted  far  into  the  night,  —  of  the 
past,  and  his  boyhood,  of  the  happenings  during  his 
long  absence,  and  how  all  the  desolation  had  come 
about,  and  her  voice  was  low  and  sad  with  a  slow, 
patient  sadness  as  it  lingered  over  the  words.  At 
last  he  broke  in  with  the  impetuosity  of  undaunted 
youth  :  **  Miss  Katherine,  things  will  be  better  soon. 
I  am  come  to  stay,  to  settle  up  mother's  affairs 
and  look  after  some  matters  for  Uncle  Darius,  and, 
for  one  thing,  that  hotel 's  going  to  be  built."  He 
rose  and  paced  the  room. 

"  Yue  can't.  There  's  a  hitch  somewhere.  Miz 
Chaplain  knows.  She  says  Jud  's  mad  at  the  road, 
and  won't  sell  his  half  of  the  hill." 

"  Yes,  he  will !      He  '11  sell  to  me." 

**  To  yue !  "     She  opened  her  eyes  in  affright. 

John  laughed.  **  You  look  as  if  I  had  said  I  would 
swallow  him  and  his  hill." 

*'  Yue  might  as  well  try  that  as  tue  move  Jud,  oh 
buy  a  hill  of  pure  gold." 


Hopes  and  Plans  loi 

"  Well,  cheer  up.  I  won't  tell  you  how  it  is  to 
come  about,  but  that  rascally  Monk  is  to  have  the 
wind  taken  out  of  his  sails,  and  Jud  and  I  will  build 
that  hotel.  I  have  the  plans  with  me.  They  are 
my  own.  He  must  move  back  here  and  help,  that 's 
all.  What 's  he  standing  in  his  own  light  for  ?  He  's 
the  only  one  left  of  the  old  set  that  I  can  work  with. 
In  three  weeks  you  '11  see  a  gang  of  men  grading 
that  hill.  Then  you  '11  believe  me."  He  paused 
and  stood  looking  down  at  her  whimsically.  '*  But 
first  I  want  you  to  promise,  —  no,  you  need  not.  I  '11 
do  it,  anyway." 

"  What  will  yue  do,  John?" 

He  sat  beside  her  and  took  her  hand.  "  I  will,  if 
you  will  let  me,  try  to  be  some  of  the  things  to  you 
that  Donald  would  have  been.  You  have  taken  me 
in  as  if  you  were  my  own  sweet  sister,  for  his 
sake,  and  as  if  this  were  my  home ;  and  now,  for 
his  sake,  let  me  be,  in  a  sense,  brother  and  son 
in  this  house."  Her  pathetic  brown  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  and  her  thin  hand  trembled  in  his. 
He  placed  it  gently  back  in  her  lap.  "  Let  me," 
he  said;  **you  know  what  Donald  would  do."  He 
settled  himself  again  in  his  corner.  ''  It 's  late,  I 
know,  but  may  I  talk  a  little  longer,  this  time  about 
myself  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  yes,  John,  yes.  The  Lord  sent  you  to  us ; 
the  Lord  sent  you  back."  ' 

''  You  know  my  father  and  Uncle  Darius  loved 
each  other,  if  they  were  opposed  in  politics.  Uncle 
Darius  has  done  all  for  me  a  father  could,  —  sent  me 
to  college,  given  me  my  choice  of  a  profession  and 
sent  me  abroad,  and  Aunt  Mary  has  mothered  me, 


I02    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

scolded,  trained,  and  loved  me,  until  I  feel  for  her 
what  I  suppose,  according  to  the  ties  of  blood,  I 
should  give  to  my  mother.  They  both  came  clear 
across  the  Continent  to  hear  my  oration.  I  worked 
for  my  life  to  take  honors,  to  please  them,  and,  on 
the  whole,  did  fairly  well.  They  stayed  in  New 
York  to  see  me  start  for  Europe.  Mother  was  there 
too,  she  and  Marguerite,  but  then  —  " 

"  Youh  mothah  nevah  returned  aftah  your  fathah's 
death." 

**  Mother  loved  society,  and  there  was  nothing 
here." 

"  Except  a  few  of  youh  fathah's  old  friends." 

"  Father  and  mother  were  so  unlike ;  if  he  had 
lived  it  would  have  been  different." 

"  How  long  were  you  abroad,  John  .-* " 

"  Three  years.     I  worked  hard  there,  studying." 

"  Architecture?    Were  you  alone?  " 

"  Mother  and  Marguerite  were  with  me  off  and 
on,  but  I  was  there  for  work,  and  they  for  pleasure, 
you  know.  Strange  to  say,  I  saw  more  of  them 
than  I  ever  had  before.  Mother  seemed  to  grow 
fonder  of  me,  too,  but  you  know  her  way,  the  fonder 
she  is  of  one,  the  more  she  wants  to  rule.  She  set 
her  heart  and  soul  and  will,  which  last  is  the  greater 
part  of  her,  on  my  marrying  Marguerite."  He 
laughed  a  little.  "  We  were  engaged  for  a  time, 
until  Marguerite  confessed  she  only  became  engaged 
to  me  because  she  found  it  expedient,  and  because 
she  did  n't  '  dislike  me  exactly,'  and  as  we  were  of 
the  same  mind,  we  quietly  broke  off  the  engagement, 
stopped  fighting,  and  have  gotten  on  fairly  well 
since.       Now   here    is    my   predicament.      Mother 


Hopes  and  Plans  103 

writes  me  from  New  York  (they  are  both  there) 
that  she  has  half  a  mind  to  visit  me  and  the  old 
home  together.  Half  a  mind  with  her  is  equal  to 
the  whole  minds  of  a  dozen  other  people.  They  '11 
come,  that 's  what  they  '11  do,  and  what  shall  I  do 
with  them?" 

*'  I  wish  we  —  " 

"They  can't  come  here;  I'll  accommodate  them 
at  Scrapp's  first."  Miss  Katherine  held  up  both 
hands  in  horror.  "  I  'd  take  them  to  the  old  place, 
only  I  called  there  this  afternoon,  and  found  them 
such  thoroughly  charming  people." 

"  Why,  John,  that's  all  the  bettah." 

"  It 's  all  the  worse.  You  know  mother.  She  'd 
make  them  feel  like  the  dirt  she  walks  on.  She  'd 
set  her  heel  on  —  " 

"  Yue  need  n't  fear  foh  Miss  Van  Ostade.  She  's 
smaht  enough."  v 

"Yes,  and  she  is  refined  and  sensitive  also." 

"  But  they  ah  keeping  bo'dahs,  yue  know,  and 
she  works  ha'd  with  her  own  hands." 

John  smiled.  He  saw  two  little  work-browned 
hands  lying  in  Miss  Katherine's  lap. 

"  I  '11  have  to  take  them  there,  there  's  no  alter- 
native, but  I  '11  —  " 

"  Build  the  new  hotel  first,"  she  said  with  a  teasing 
smile. 

"  Now,  Miss  Katherine,  that 's  like  yourself.  No, 
but  I  '11  do  something  to  keep  them  from  having  too 
much  unoccupied  time  on  their  hands.  I  '11  have  sad- 
dle and  carriage  horses  brought  from  Asheville,  — 
there 's  nothing  here,  —  if  you  '11  let  me  have  the 
stables  put  in  order." 


I04    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  I  shall  take  yue  at  youh  word,  John.  What 
would  Donald  do?" 

**  Thank  you.  Then,  we  will  do  it,  you  and  I." 
She  laughed  a  tremulous  little  laugh.  "  We  will 
make  things  hum  here.  They  can  have  a  suite  of 
rooms  at  the  old  place  for  them  and  their  maids,  if 
the  present  owners  will  consent,  and  I  will  be  the 
devoted  son  I  ought  to  be.  I  '11  put  off  their  coming 
as  long  as  I  can,  and  get  Hanford  Clark  there  at  the 
station  to  take  up  his  quarters  at  the  house.  He  's 
a  splendid  fellow.  I  knew  him  at  college.  But  that 
matter  of  bringing  Judson  Chaplain  around  must  be 
looked  after  first.  But  now.  Miss  Katherine,  good- 
night.    I  have  tired  you  out,  I  know." 

**  Good-night,  John."  She  took  the  lamp  and 
conducted  him  to  Donald's  old  room.  Happy 
Katherine !  A  new  lease  of  life  seemed  to  have 
come  to  her.  Softly  she  looked  in  on  her  mother 
calmly  sleeping.  "What  would  ma  say?"  she 
thought,  and  all  that  night  visions  of  the  old  gay 
life  filled  her  slumbers. 


CHAPTER   VII 
UNDER   COVER   OF    DARKNESS 

IT  is  well  that  we  are  imprisoned  in  the  bodies  we 
inhabit  during  our  short  span  of  earthly  exist- 
ence; that  we  are  not  allowed  to  imperil  our 
peace,  and  enjoyment  of  merry  thoughts,  and  the 
beauties  that  are  revealed  to  us  in  the  natural  order 
of  events,  by  erratically  wandering  about  and  pene- 
trating into  dark  places  and  miserable  secrets  that 
would  be  better  hidden  from  us  forever,  since  the 
only  unutterably  terrible  and  humanly  incompre- 
hensible problem  in  this  world,  after  all,  is  the 
existence  of  sin. 

Peacefully  sleeping  on  Donald's  bed,  in  Donald's 
old  room,  where  everything  had  been  so  reverently 
cared  for  because  it  was  Donald's,  lay  John  Mar- 
shall through  that  tranquil  April  night.  Could  his 
spirit  have  gone  with  the  moonbeams,  it  might 
have  entered  the  dirty  windows  of  Budd's  saloon, 
where  a  knot  of  the  male  inhabitants  were  holding 
an  impromptu  political  meeting,  screened  from 
human  eyes  by  coarse  paper  curtains  over  the 
upper  half  of  the  windows,  and  a  smearing  of  white 
paint  over  the  lower.  A  kerosene  lamp  lighted 
the  place.  Ranged  in  a  half-circle  around  a  rusty 
stove  and  a  box  of  sawdust,  some  standing,  some 
tilted  back  in  rickety  chairs,  were  the  men.  None 
were  seated  near  the  stove,  for,  being  in  dangerous 
proximity  to   the  box,   they   might  be  hit  by  the 


1  o6    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

shots  of  tobacco  juice,  which  made  a  continuous, 
slippery  fusillade  at  it.  They  talked  in  low  tones, 
with  a  languid  air,  that  was  at  the  same  time  full 
of  suppressed  intensity,  like  the  atmosphere  of  a 
sultry  day  before  a  storm. 

One,  seated  in  a  chair  placed  on  the  hacked  and 
whittled  counter,  pounded  with  a  stick  when  all 
talked  at  once,  or  one  lifted  his  voice  above  the  low 
pitch  adopted  by  all.  Patterson,  with  one  leg 
swung  over  the  corner  of  the  counter,  and  his 
elbow  on  his  knee,  chewed  the  end  of  an  elm  twig 
and  eyed  his  companions  sharply.  He  seldom 
spoke,  but  was  evidently  the  leading  spirit  of  the 
meeting. 

"  We  don't  want  th*  m'litia  down  on  us,  noh  du 
we  want  any  women  'nd  childern  cut  up,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  This  'ere  's  p'litical  business  solely,  an'  th' 
end  justifies  th'  means,  'nd  th'  means  we  'r'  goin'  tu 
use  is  tu  hesh  up  th'  niggers,  'nd  cool  off  some  o* 

them No'thern  intruders  over   tu   Broadgate. 

We    ah    conservative    citizens,  and    we    ah    not    tu 

be  led  around  by  th'  nose  by  a No'thern  monkey 

like  Monk,  noh  ah  we  goin'  tu  let  th'  niggers 
drive.  We  hold  th'  reins,  gentlemen,  an'  ah  goin' 
tu    keep   aholt  of  'em." 

There  was  suppressed  laughter  and  murmured 
applause.  Though  all  had  been  drinking,  none 
were  drunk.  Several  spoke  at  once.  ''  Pitch  Monk 
over  his  trestle."  "  Tar  'nd  fether  'im."  ''  What 's 
th'  matter  'ith  givin'  Clark  a  little  cold  peppeh?" 
''  Send  'im  off  on  one  o'  his  freights."  **  Wipe  out 
th'  niggahs,  'nd  one  or  two  o'  their  backers,  'nd  th* 
thing  's  done." 


Under  Cover  of  Darkness  107 

The  chairman  thumped  with  his  stick.  **  Gen'le- 
men,  I  'low  Mr.  Patterson  ain't  thoo."  Patterson 
threw  his  chewed  twig  into  the  sawdust.  "  Naw, 
gen'lemen,  I  kyan'  rightly  say  as  I  am  thoo ;  you- 
all  hev  been  talkin'  c'nsiderable,  now  I  '11  talk.  Th' 
hosses  is  stompin'  outside;  th'  regalia's  in  th'  closet, 
ain't  it,  Budd?" 

"  Hit's  thar,"  said  Budd. 

''Wall,  what's  tu  hender  beginnin'  this  evenin'?" 
he   looked  at  his   watch. 

"  That 's  th'  talk,"  said  one  and  another. 

"  Gen'lemen,  here  's  my  plan.  Keep  th'  road  on 
ouh  side.  Th'  prosperity  o'  th'  place  demands  it. 
Leave  th'  agent  alone.  They 's  nothin'  ag'in  th' 
agent,  an'  he  leaves  us  alone.  We  must  take  th' 
head  off'n  theih  party  in  this  section,  by  quietly 
removin'  theih  candidate." 

"  That 's  th'  talk."  "  Git  red  o'  th'  trash."  "  Drop 
'im  ovah  his  trestle." 

"They's  tu  be  no  row  about  it,  mind.  Ef  theih 
candidate  skips  th'  place,  thet  's  theih  look-out. 
Hit's  eleven  o'clock.  We  goes  tu  Monk's  room, 
now.  Th'  first  outgoin'  freight  passes  at  one,  an' 
three  men  bo'ds  it,  an'  tue  of  'em  returns  on  hoss- 
back  tu  theih  own  homes  (whar  they  hev  been  all 
night,  of  co'se)  befo'  daybreak."  There  was  a  mur- 
mur of  assent,  and  Patterson  talked  on.  "  Which 
of  yu  gen'lemen  will  take  th'  ridge  mule  trail  an' 
lead  th'  hosses  around  tu  th'  first  stop  beyond  th' 
trestle  foh  them  'at  takes  th'  freight?  "  One  of  the 
party  rose  and  hitched  at  the  top  of  his  trousers. 
"  Bettah  go  tue  tugethah.  Ef  one  gits  stuck,  t'  other 
kin  make  it."     Another  man  rose  and  hitched  at  his 


1 08    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

trousers.  ''  Thet  's  well.  Yu  tue  bettah  start.  Yu 
won't  mo'  than  make  it  in  two  houahs.  Hold  on  a 
minute.  Whose  hosses  yu  goin'  tu  take?"  Two 
more  men  rose,  one  a  huge  muscular  mountaineer, 
hitched  at  the  tops  of  their  trousers,  and  silently 
removed  the  plugs  of  tobacco  from  their  mouths. 
"  Thet 's  well,"  said  Patterson  again,  with  slow  inten- 
sity.    "  Take  theih  hosses  'nd  be  gone." 

They  went  out,  and  soon  the  clatter  of  hoofs  was 
heard  going  toward  the  ridge  trail.  Addressing  the 
men  who  rose  last,  Patterson  continued :  "  Youh 
th'  right  men  fo'  th'  right  place.  That  settles  Monk. 
By  duin*  these  things  sharp,  they 's  no  need  tu  du 
th'  dirty  work  ovah  again." 

**  Mount  make  an  example  o'  one  o'  th'  niggahs," 
said  Budd.  *'  This  'ere  cussed  young  strut  ovah- 
head  is  top  o'  th'  heap  amongst  'em,  readin'  th' 
papahs  an*  retailin'  trash  at  theih  meetin's.  Swing 
'im  f'om  his  pole,  an'  they  won't  be  no  mo'  niggahs' 
p'litical  meetin's,  I  reckon." 

*'  Naw,  let  'im  strut  awhile.  We  '11  look  aftah  'im 
latah  ef  he  don't  hesh."  Patterson  left  the  counter 
where  he  had  remained  with  scarcely  a  change  of 
position  during  the  whole  of  his  talk.  The  chair- 
man came  down  from  his  perch. 

Half  an  hour  later  a  small  band  of  draped  figures,  . 
masked  and  armed,  left  Budd's  saloon,  and  marched 
silently  to  the  corner  store,  where  the  lawyer  had 
his  rooms,  and  divided.  Four  of  them  quietly 
climbed  the  stairway,  an  outside  one,  the  door  at 
the  top  was  quickly  pried  open,  there  was  the  sound 
of  a  few  low-spoken  words,  a  short  scuffle,  and  soon 
five  figures   left  the    room,    one   led  between   two, 


Under  Cover  of  Darkness  1 09 

draped  and  masked  like  the  rest.  No  word  was 
spoken.  They  joined  the  party  waiting  below, 
crossed  the  street,  and  stood  back  silently  in  the 
shadow  of  the  freight-house.  Soon  the  outgoing 
train,  consisting  of  three  empty  cars  and  a  caboose 
also  empty,  thundered  up  to  the  station.  One  of 
the  men  was  roughly  lifted  into  the  caboose,  two 
others  climbed  hastily  in  after  him,  and  the  train 
moved  on.  When  the  agent  had  locked  the  freight- 
house,  and  taken  his  way  back  to  his  quarters  at 
Scrapp's,  the  rest  emerged  from  their  concealment 
and  moved  stealthily  away. 

Could  John  Marshall's  spirit  have  gone  with  the 
moonbeams  in  all  their  silent  journeyings,  he  would 
have  peered  into  a  little  log  church  a  few  miles  from 
Patterson,  half  hidden  in  a  wild  glen.  Behind  it 
was  a  perpendicular  wall  of  lichen-covered  rock, 
down  which  water  was  forever  trickling.  Ferns 
growing  in  the  ledges  nodded  as  the  sparkling  drops 
fell  on  them.  In  front  a  small  stream  dashed  with 
continuous  rushing  noise  over  immense  boulders. 
A  path,  a  mere  narrow  mule-track,  wound  high  up 
along  the  bank  of  the  stream.  The  glen  was  beau- 
tiful beyond  description,  and  wild  as  if  so  tame  a 
creature  as  man  never  had  visited  it. 

While  the  men  gathered  in  Budd's  saloon  were 
still  meditatively  firing  at  the  box  of  sawdust,  some 
thirty  or  more  negroes  had  stealthily  collected  here. 
They  sat  on  rude  benches  of  plank,  resting  on  rough 
blocks  sawed  from  solid  logs.  A  wooden  chair  and 
a  table  on  which  were  two  tallow  candles  were  in  one 
end  of  the  room  and  near  them  — -  a  strange  article  of 
furniture  for  so  rude  a  place  —  was  a  small  cabinet 


1 1  o    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

organ  covered  with  a  shabby  green  cloth.  After 
being  addressed  by  one  and  another  of  their  num- 
ber, a  tall,  sinewy,  gray-haired  mulatto  arose.  He 
was  an  exhorter,  and  spoke  much  after  the  fashion 
of  the  camp-meeting. 

"  Bred'ren,  an' ,"  he  was  going  to  say  sisters,  but 
recollecting  that  no  sisters  were  present,  added, 
**  an'  all  yo'-uns  wha'  is  heah.  Dis  ain'  no  com- 
mon subjec'  wha'  has  drawed  we-all  heah.  Yo'- 
all  t'ink  yo'  gwine  vote  nex'  week?  Naw,  bred'ren, 
an'  —  naw,  yo'  gwine  stan'  raoun'  an'  be  knock'  on  de 
haid  like  yo'  's  ol'  used  up  bosses,  wha'  ain'  got  no 
mo'  pow'  fo'  tu  hoi'  yo'se'fs  tugedder.  I  tell  yo', 
bred'ren,  I 's  seed  an'  had  de  'speunce.  Yo'  reckon 
yo'  's  free  'case  yo'  ain'  had  de  lash  ovah  yo'  haids, 
but  I  tell  yo',  yo'  ain'  free  yit.  I  kyan'  read  like  Jose- 
phus  yandah,  or  Brudder  Chas  heah,  —  I  kyan'  tell 
what-all  is  in  de  papahs  he  done  brung  tu  de  meet'n', 
but,  bred'ren,  we-all  ain'  sot  free  ontwell  we  kin  call 
de  souls  de  Lawd  done  gib  us  ouh  own." 

Josephus  left  the  room  at  the  beginning  of  the 
old  man's  talk.  He  had  already  spoken,  urging 
upon  them  that  they  had  a  right  to  vote  their  own 
ticket  like  white  men,  that  they  were  all  free  men, 
and  had  only  to  do  a  little  knocking  on  their  own 
account,  and  show  themselves  men  to  succeed. 

After  the  old  man  had  spoken  at  some  length, 
Lord  Chesterfield  came  forward,  unbuttoned  his 
coat,  and  drew  out  some  papers  and  a  notebook 
with  a  pompous  air.  Although  a  fop,  he  was  no 
fool.  He  possessed  a  strong  will,  and  loved  power. 
The  moonlight  stole  through  the  dusty  little  win- 
dow and  fell  on   his  softly  curling,  silky  black  hair.. 


Under  Cover  of  Darkness  1 1 1 

His  face  seemed  a  dead  white  in  the  dusk  of  the 
candle-light.  He  spoke  well,  using  notebook  and 
papers  ostentatiously.  He  had  evidently  been 
primed  by  Monk,  who  was  running  for  the  office 
of  circuit  judge. 

"  Uncle  Isaac  's  done  tol'  de  troof  We-all  's  not 
free  yit,  an'  we  nebber  will  be  free  ontwell  we  gits 
a  No'thun  jedge  in  dis-yer  No'th  C'liny,  an'  Monk  's 
de  man,  gen'l'men.  He  has  de  hull  taoun  yandah 
tu  Broadgate  on  his  side.  They  's  put'  nigh  all 
No'thun  men  dar." 

"  Yas,  yo'  's  nuffin'  but  a  young  cock  I'arnin*  tu 
crow.  Yo'  has  a  heap  tu  I'arn  yit,"  muttered  old 
Isaac. 

While  Chas  strutted  about  with  coat  thrown  open, 
and  thumbs  thrust  in  the  armholes  of  his  vest, 
Josephus  was  wandering  far  from  the  cabin,  with 
a  brown  paper  parcel  under  his  arm,  evidently 
searching  for  some  one  among  the  rocks,  and  leaving 
poor  Bonaparte  tied  to  a  sapling  near  the  church. 

"  Yas,  gen'l'men,  we-all  's  got  tu  be  cl'ar  dum  still 
an'  circumspec'  an'  nebber  let  on  like  we-uns  gwine 
tu  jump,"  continued  Chas.  "  Dis-yer 's  mighty 
ticklesome  business.  I  hyahs  a  heap  yandah  ovah 
de  sto'  an'  nuvvah  lets  on  like  I  hyahs  nuffin'.  Ef 
dey  'low  tu  hendah  we-uns  in  ouh  fa'r,  right,  an'  jus' 
privileges,  I 's  gwine  —  " 

Suddenly  every  man  sprang  to  his  feet  and  the 
lights  were  extinguished.  A  shot  rang  through  the 
glen  and  reverberated  from  rock  to  rock  of  its  per- 
pendicular sides.  Uncle  Isaac  peered  through  the 
window,  screened  by  the  darkness  within,  and  saw 
two  horsemen  ride  over  a  rise  in  the  path  and  dis- 


i 


\ 


1 1 2    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

appear  in  the  shadows.  Along  the  trail  rode  the 
two  men  who  had  first  left  Budd's  saloon,  each  lead- 
ing a  horse  saddled.  They  took  note  of  the  light  in 
the  cabin,  and  the  mule  tied  to  the  sapling. 

"  Thet  thar  's  Josephus'  mule,"  said  one.  "  Th' 
niggahs  is  up  tu  sump'n  in  thar.  See  th'  light  in  th' 
winders?  " 

The  other  said  nothing,  but  levelled  his  revolver  at 
the  creature's  head  and  fired.  The  animal  dropped 
with  a  groan,  and  the  men  rode  on. 

"  Josephus  is  a  mighty  high-steppin'  niggah,"  said 
he  who  fired  the  shot,  slipping  a  new  cartridge  in 
the  place  of  the  one  just  used,  and  pocketing  the 
weapon. 

The  candles  were  not  relighted  in  the  little  log 
church  that  night.  The  men  stole  out  and  scattered 
silently  to  their  homes. 

"  Naw,  bred'ren,  we-all  ain'  free  yit.  We  *s  undah 
de  sto'm-claoud,"  said  Isaac,  in  a  low  voice,  as  he 
looked  at  the  dead   mule. 

"  Cl'issy,  she  '11  be  mighty  cut  up  ovah  dis-yer," 
said  another.  "  She  lays  a  heap  on  Josephus  an' 
dat  ah  mule  team  o'  his'n." 

"  Hit  sarves  Joe  like  he'd  ought  tu  be  sarved,  fo' 
duin*  sech  a  fool  trick.  What  he  done  brung  de 
mule  heah  fo'  anyhow?  Hit  jes'  lets  on  we-all's 
hol'n'  meet'n's  heah,  a-hee-hawin'  outside.  He  ain' 
nufBn'  but  a  fool  nigger  anyhow,  —  kyan'  du  nuffin' 
but  hoUah  an'  sing,"  said  Chas,  angrily.  ''Whar  is 
he  gone  now  ?    Hunt'n'  a'ter  a  possom  mo'  'n  likely." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JOSEPHUS'   SECRET 

JOSEPHUS,  prowling  among  the  rocks  near  the 
bridge,  where  he  had  rescued  Portia  that  after- 
noon, heard  the  shot  in  the  distance,  but  gave  no 
heed.  Creeping  among  the  blackest  shadows,  he 
entered  a  sort  of  cave  high  among  the  crags  over- 
hanging the  stream. 

"  Pete  Gunn,  come  out  o'  dar,"  he  called  in  low 
tones ;  "  no  use  o'  yo'  hid'n'  heah."  No  answer 
came.  *'  Pete,  ef  yo'  doan  quit  hangin'  raoun'  dis 
hole,  I 's  gwine  tu  Patterson,  'n'  tell  de  she'iff  yo'  's 
heah."  His  eyes,  grown  used  to  the  darkness,  de- 
scried a  black  bundle  in  one  corner.  He  touched  it 
with  his  foot,  and  a  man  struggled  to  his  feet  with 
an  inarticulate  snarl,  like  a  wild  animal.  The 
wretched  creature  shook  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Wha'  yo'  hunt'n'  me  fo',  Josephus?  I  ain'  done 
nuffin'  tu  yo'-uns." 

Josephus  leaned  against  the  wall  of  the  cave, 
regarding  the  trembling  creature  before  him. 
"Why n't  yo'  behave  yo'se'f?  Wha'  yo'  done  wid 
de  money  Gabr'ella  gib  yo'  fo'  tu  git  tu  Raleigh?" 

The  man  muttered  about  being  sick  and  starving. 

"  Naw,  yo'  low  daoun  niggah  ;  yo'  's  drinkin'.  I  kin 
smell  de  whuskey  oft'n  yo'.  Yo'  's  hangin'  raoun 
steal'n'  Jim  Throop's  moonshine  whuskey,  an' 
pitchin'  rocks  daoun  on  folkses'  haids,  an*  kiUin' 
ol'   women." 

8  113 


1 14    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  I  nebber,  fo'  de  Lawd,  I  nebber  did  n'  kill  nobody, 
sho  's  I  bohned  a  niggah." 

"  Wha'  fo'  yo'  stan'in'  dar  wid  de  rock  ovah  de 
lady's  haid?" 

"I's  starvin',  I  tell  yo'." 

"Well,  yo'  gvvine  eat  de  lady?"  Josephus  lifted 
his  arm  as  if  he  would  strike  the  cowering  figure  to 
the  earth. 

"  Lawd  !  Josephus,  doan  strike.  I  's  starvin'  an' 
dyin'.  I  war  gwine  git  dat  ar  gol'  off 'n  her,  —  dat  gol' 
chain  an'  pin,  —  and,  git  Kit  tu  sell  'em  tu  git  me 
victuals.  I  's  starvin'.  Crawlin' an'  hid'n',  an'  nuifin' 
tu  keep  de  life  in  me  but  sasafrax  root  'n'  whuskey. 
Gabr'ella  gone  back  on  me.  Mam  Gunn  won'  he'p 
none.  I  kyan'  move  in  de  daytime  'daout  de  officers 
haul  me  back  tu  de  chain-gang." 

"  Naw,  Gabr'ella  ain'  gone  back  on  yo'  neider." 
Josephus  opened  his  parcel.  "  Heah  I  been  totin' 
dis-yer  meat  'n*  co'n  bread  she  done  sont  yo'  — 
'pears  like  I  kyan'  b'leeb  yo'  no  kin  tu  her  no- 
way. Ef  'twain'  fo'  her  I  'd  sen'  de  she'iff  a'ter 
yo'.  Sho  nuff,  yo'  gwine  kill  de  lady,  heav'n* 
rocks  daoun  on  her  haid?"  The  poor  creature 
clutched  at  the  meat,  and  began  tearing  it  with 
his  teeth.  Josephus  seated  himself  on  a  boulder, 
watching  him  in  silence.  "  I  's  baoun'  tu  git  de 
troof  aout'n  yo',"  he  said  at  last,  "or  gib  yo'  up, 
one.  What-all  yo'  been  duin'  sence  yo'  git  shet 
o'  de  chain-gang?  Wha'  fo'  yo'  kill  de  ol'  'oman 
yandah  up  de  maount'n?" 

Pete  paused  with  his  chunk  of  meat  half-devoured. 
"  Wha'  fo'  yo'  talkin'  'baouts  kill'n'  foh  ?  Ain'  I  done 
tell  yo'  I  nebber  did  n'  kill  nobody?" 


Josephus'  Secret  115 

**  Whose  clo'es  yo*  got  on?  " 

"  His'n.  Hi.  Toplins  's  wha'  I  wo'k  fo' ;  dat  time 
de  officers  come  daoun  on  us.  I  roll  off'n  de  han'- 
cah,  'n'  cut  fo*  de  bresh  when  all  han's  was  driben  de 
cah  ontu  de  bredge.  De  ovahseeah  holla  an'  shoot, 
but  dey  could  n'  stop  de  cah  ontwell  hit  cl'ar  on  de 
middle  o'  de  bredge,  en  dey  baoun'  tu  git  on,  'case 
de  train  comin'  on  'hine  dem.  Dat-a-way  hu-come 
I  git  shet  o'  de  chain-gang.  I  been  nigh  daid  wid 
de  starvin',  kyan'  take  nuffin'  'daout  dey  track  me. 
I  jes'  made  aout  tu  lib  an'  crawl  back  tu  Toplins' 
place  'g'in.  De  ol'  'oman  she  daoun  by  de  branch 
washin*,  an'  I  he'p  myself  tu  all  de  victuals  in  de 
cabin,  an'  I  see  her  haid  a-bobbin'  ovah  de  tub,  an' 
de  ol'  man's  clo'es  hangin'  'hine  de  do'  an'  I  tuk 
his'n  an'  lef  mine  dar.  Dat-a-way  hu-cum  I  got 
shet  o'  de  jail  clo'es."  He  began  tearing  at  the 
meat  again. 

*'  Mine,  ef  yo'  's  lyin*  I 's  gwine  gib  yo'  up." 

"  Fo'  de  Lawd,  I  ain*  tellin'  no  lie.  I  done  went 
home,  an'  Nance,  she  kep'  me  awhile,  twell  Kit,  she 
see  de  officers  comin',  den  I  run  'n  clum  in  de  wash- 
kittle  daoun  'hine  de  big  gum,  'n'  Nance,  she  wait 
twell  she  see  'em  lookin'  at  her,  den  she  pitch  in 
hul'  ahmful  o'  clo'es,  an'  trow  in  bucket  o'  watah, 
like  she  gwine  begin  wash'n',  'nd  holla,  '  Kit,  yo' 
light  de  fiah,'  an'  Kit  she  git  de  chips  tugedder  like 
she  gwine  light  de  fiah  undah  de  kittle  right  smaht, 
an'  Nance  she  g'  long  tu  de  haouse,  an'  talk  wid  de 
men.  Dey  sarch  de  haouse,  an'  pitch  de  baids  aout 
de  do*  'n'  cahy  on  like  dey  debbles,  an'  Nance  'low  tu 
me,  dey  done  tol'  her  I  done  kill  ol'  man  Toplins' 
wife  yandah  up  de  maount'n.     Mo'  likely  he  done 


1 1 6    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

hit  he's  own  se'f.  I  knows  him.  I  hyearn  him  holla 
at  her  heap  o'  times  like  he  gwine  kill  'er." 

"  Yo'  knows  he  ain'  dar.  Dey  tu'k  him  'long 
o'  yo'-uns  moonshinin',  and  put  'im  in  de  white 
'tentiary." 

"  Huh  !  He  ain'  dar?  "  shouted  the  wretch,  angrily. 
*' Did  n'  I  see  'im  snoopin' raoun'  de  mill  yis'day? 
Gohses  doan  walk  in  de  day,  baig'in'  fo'  whuskey. 
He  kill  'er  he's  se'f.  He  come  home,  an'  dar  he 
fin'  de  clo'es  gone,  an*  'low  she  done  sell  'em,  an' 
kill  'er.  Dat  ar  hu-cum  she  daid."  He  gave  a  low 
guttural  laugh,  and  began  tearing  the  bread  from 
the  loaf  with  his  teeth.  Josephus  kicked  at  him,  and 
stepped  out  of  the  cave  into  the  moonlight. 

**  Yo'  brute  hog,  I  'low  dat  tu  good  name  fo'  yo'. 
I  'low  yo*  ain'  no  kin  tu  Gabr'ella  noway." 

The  man  called  after  him  piteously:  "Josephus, 
O  Josephus,  doan  gib  me  up.  I  tell  yo'  he  done 
hit  he's  own  se'f." 

*'  Haish !  Yo'  gwine  gib  yo'  own  se'f  up  holla'n* 
like  dat-a-way?  " 

There  was  sudden  silence  in  the  woods,  then  a 
great  owl  in  a  thicket  close  to  Josephus  hooted  with 
a  wild  fearful  cry,  that  rang  through  the  wood  like 
the  shriek  of  a  despairing  soul,  making  the  flesh 
creep  and  tingle.  "  Trouble  gwine  come,"  he  mut- 
tered. The  cry  was  answered  from  farther  up  the 
gorge,  like  a  reawakening  of  the  first  echo,  whereat 
the  bird  left  the  thicket,  and  flew  softly  and  swiftly 
past  him,  like  the  despairing  soul  itself  impelled  to 
its  doom.     Its  shadow  fell  on  him  as  it  passed. 

"■  'Pears  like  Pete  done  holla  an'  died,  an'  dar  goes 
he's  ghos*.     Trouble    gwine   come  now  sho."     But 


Josephus'  Secret  1 1 7 

Pete  had  only  crawled  into  the  farthest  corner  of 
the  cave,  and  was  drinking  from  a  jug  of  whiskey  he 
had  stolen  from  the  mill  the  day  before.  There  in 
drunken  stupor  he  lay,  only  rousing  at  the  close  of 
the  second  day  to  drink  himself  again  unconscious 
with  what  remained  in  the  jug. 

Josephus  hurried  toward  the  little  log  church, 
scrambling  dexterously  over  rough,  dangerous 
places,  and  cutting  across  an  intervening  hill,  and 
down  the  precipitous  sides  of  the  gorge,  hoping  to 
reach  the  cabin  before  his  absence  would  be  dis- 
covered.    All  was  still,  and  the  lights  out. 

**  'Pears  like  dey  done  cl'ar  out  o'  heah  mighty 
suddent,"  he  said.  He  saw  the  mule  lying  where  he 
had  tied  it,  and  gently  touched  it  with  his  foot. 
"  Git  up.  Bony,  yo*  lazy.  H'ist,  mule."  Something 
uncanny  in  its  stillness  startled  him.  He  stooped 
and  touched  its  ears.  *'  Daid,  sho  nuff  daid.  I 
knowed  trouble  gwine  come  when  dat  owel  done 
hollah  at  me."  He  scratched  his  head,  ruminating 
mournfully,  as  he  walked  around  the  dead  beast. 
*'  Dey  done  come  daoun  heah,  an'  broke  up  de 
meet'n',  'an  kill  de  po'  critter." 

He  sat  down  on  a  log,  his  head  between  his  hands, 
his  pride  broken.  If  they  had  sought  out  a  way  to 
hurt  him  with  a  refinement  of  cruelty,  they  could  not 
have  done  so  more  effectually  than  by  killing  his 
mule,  except  by  shooting  its  mate  as  well.  He  heard 
the  trampling  of  horses'  hoofs  over  the  stony  trail. 
Screened  as  he  was  by  his  blackness  blending  with 
the  dark  bank  and  the  shadows,  he  remained  unseen 
as  the  four  riders  passed.  Their  voices  sounded 
clear  and  strong  in  the  narrow  ravine. 


1 1 8    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  I  'low  we  've  done  this  puty  slick,"  said  one. 

"  We  '11  know  soon,  ef  we  see  th'  buzzards  hangin' 
round  th'  spot,"  said  another.  Supposing  they 
spoke  of  his  mule,  Josephus  determined  to  bury 
the  animal  next  day. 

Old  Clarissa  had  waited  his  return  through  the  long 
slow  hours,  meditating,  smoking  her  cob  pipe,  and 
now  and  then  adding  a  stick  of  "  light-'ud  "  to  keep 
the  fire  going  as  she  crouched  over  the  hearth. 
She  hated  darkness,  and  the  dancing  flame  and 
old  lame  pussy  at  her  feet  were  her  companions. 

"  Whar  yo'  been  loafin'  ? "  she  queried  as  he 
entered,  long   past   midnight. 

''  Nowhar,"  he  said,  scowling  and  touching  the 
cat  with  his  foot. 

"  Yo'  leab  de  cat  'lone.  Is  yo'  niggers  been 
hol'n'  meetin's?  did  n'  I  tol'  yo'  leab  dem  ah  tu  de 
white  folkses?  Dey'll  hab  yo'  hangin'  f'om  a  tree 
one  o'   dese  days,  I  reckon." 

He  stood  by  the  fire  a  few  moments  in  sullen 
silence,  then  climbed  a  ladder  leading  through  a 
trap-door  into  a  loft  above.  She  heard  his  steps 
overhead,  and  then  all  was  still.  He  had  thrown 
himself,  dressed  as  he  was,  on  his  straw  bed,  de- 
cently covered  with  patchwork  quilt  of  his  mother's 
own  making. 

Old  Clarissa  puffed  at  her  half-consumed  pipe 
until  it  went  out.  She  moved  her  lips  from  time  to 
time  as  if  communing  with  herself.  At  last  the  words 
broke  out  in  a  sort  of  half-moaning  prayer :  — 

"  Oh,  Lawd  !  doan  yo'  know  de  h'a't  ob  de  sor- 
rowin'  Lawd?  I  ain'  done  nuffin',  Lawd.  Yo'  knows 
hu-come  I   done  hit,     Ef  yo'  visits  de  sins  ob  de 


Josephus^  Secret  119 

fathahs  on  de  chillen,  ain'  dat  nuff,  Lawd,  'daout 
visitin'  de  sins  ob  de  mudders  on  'em  tu?  Lawd, 
leab  de  boy  'lone,  an'  tek  he's  ol'  niudder  'way  fom 
de  trials  an'  de  tribulations  comin'.  Leab  de  boy 
'lone.  Lawd,  I  done  ax  yo'  heap  o'  times  tek  ol' 
Cl'issy  home.  Kyan'  I  go  home,  Lawd?  Hu-come 
yo'  leab  me  heah  in  de  way?  I  ain'  done  nuffin'. 
Tek  me  an'  leab  de  boy  'lone." 

She  drew  the  ashes  over  the  coals,  and  crept 
shivering  into  bed.  Not  into  the  best  bed  with  its 
gay  pieced  cover  and  pure  white  pillows,  —  no,  no. 
That  was  a  sacred  ornament  to  her  little  cabin. 
Only  one  being  had  ever  slept  in  it.  She,  like  an 
angel  from  heaven,  had  come  among  them,  lived 
among  them,  and  brought  on  herself  the  contumely 
of  her  white  neighbors  by  teaching  the  blacks; 
but  while  they  ostracized  and  ignored  her,  she  was 
saved  from  brutality  by  her  sw^eetness  and  beauty 
and  physical  frailty.  During  a  few  short  years, 
what  had  she  not  accomplished,  unrewarded,  as 
men  reckon  rewards !  She  had  brought  a  measure 
of  refinement  into  a  few^  degraded  homes,  had 
taught  day  school  and  night  school,  had  organized 
a  Sabbath  school,  and  had  taught  Gabriella  Gunn  to 
play  her  little  cabinet  organ,  which  she  bequeathed 
to  their  little  church  at  her  death.  Lovingly  she 
had  been  laid  to  rest  on  the  wild  hillside,  and  a 
rude  board  placed  at  the  head  of  her  grave,  which 
had  been  fenced  about  to  prevent  stray  cattle  from 
tramping  over  it. 

Mammy  Clarissa  never  w^earied  of  telling  how 
Miss  Mann  had  slept  in  her  "  bes'  baid  dat  time 
she  got  cotched  in  de  sto'm  o'  lightnin'," 


I  20    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

In  the  earliest  dawn  Josephus  climbed  down  his 
ladder,  softly  stepping  past  his  mother's  couch, 
and  gently  drawing  to  the  door  after  him.  He 
rode  away  from  the  little  clearing  on  old  Jude's 
back  with  a  shovel  and  pick  strapped  together  over 
his  shoulder.  The  earth  smiled  drowsily  under  the 
charm  of  a  sweet  May  dawn,  but  he  felt  none  of 
the  sweetness.  He  set  his  teeth  hard  as  he  dug- 
his  heels  into  the  mule's  sides  and  galloped  up 
and  down  the  mountain  road,  through  patches  of 
slanting  shadows,  and  under  boughs  still  dripping 
from  a  slight  shower. 

"  Dey  ain'  gwine  kick  me  dat-a-way,"  he  muttered. 
*'  I 's  hab  anuddah  mule  right  smaht,  I  reckon." 

After  covering  the  carcass  of  poor  Bonaparte, 
and  concealing  the  place  with  brush,  he  rode  on. 
A  cat-bird  whistled  merrily  in  a  thicket  of  dogwood 
and  oaks ;  the  breath  of  the  morning  blew  in  his 
face,  sweet  with  the  odor  of  blossoms  and  the  earth, 
but  he  rode  sulkily  with  head  drooped.  Presently 
he  drew  an  old  stocking  from  his  bosom  and  began 
counting  his  little  hoard  of  savings,  mostly  dimes, 
three-cent  pieces,  and  pennies,  with  one  or  two  bills 
which  he  had  earned  doing  odd  jobs  for  Mr.  Ridge- 
way  and  the  two  young  planters.  Suddenly  he 
drew  rein  so  quickly  as  to  set  Jude  back  on  her 
haunches.  His  face  expanded.  He  lifted  his  head 
and  drew  in  a  deep  breath. 

"  I 's  gwine  see  Mist'  Button  'n'  Mist'  Craig,"  he 
said.  "  I  'low  dey  '11  le'  me  job  fo'  de  money.  Git 
up,  Jude,  yo'  's  gwine  hab  nurrer  mate  right  smaht. 
I  'low  Gabr'ella  sha'n't  know  dis-yer  ontwell  I 
come  clatt'n'  'long  wid  de  span.     Git." 


Josephus'  Secret  121 

He  turned  and  took  another  trail,  which  led  over 
an  intervening  hill  into  a  sheltered  valley,  where  the 
soil  was  deep  and  enriched  by  washings  from  the 
surrounding  slopes.  Here  the  young  orchard  was 
set,  and  its  thrifty  owners  were  already  on  the  edge 
of  the  plantation  preparing  for  a  day's  cultivating. 

"  I  tell  you  there  is  something  at  the  bottom  of 
all  this,"  said  Richard,  as  he  buckled  the  horses' 
head-strap.  "  I  rode  by  Throop's  mill  yesterday, 
and  if  I  did  n't  see  old  Toplins  disappear  through 
the  shed  door  I  have  no  eyesight.  I  knew  his 
limp.  If  he's  been  discharged,  what's  he  hiding 
for?  Why  doesn't  he  walk  up  and  make  a  stir 
about  the  murder?  The  old  sinner  is  back  in  the 
old  business,  or  else  he  knows  more  of  the  other 
affair  than  is  safe  for  him." 

*'  Both,  more  than  likely,"  said  Craig. 

"  Well,  what 's  to  be  done  about  it  ?  " 

"Nothing.  Let  them  manage  their  own  concerns. 
I  see  no  reason  why  we  should  meddle.  Pete  's  a 
low-down  nigger  anyway,  so  what's  the  odds?  If 
he  gets  lynched  now  it  may  save  him  from  commit- 
ting a  murder  in  the  future,  if  he  did  n't  do  this." 

Richard  laughed.  **  Your  idea  of  justice  is  on 
a  par  with  Lord  Chesterfield's  idea  of  religion. 
*  He's  baoun'  tu  be  'ligious,  'case  de  niggers  heah- 
'bouts  doan  know  no  bettah  nohow.  Dey'll  t'ink 
he  a  bohned  fool  ef  he  doan  holla  glory  hallelooya 
tu  de  meet'n's.'  —  Hello,  Josephus,  where  did  you 
drop  from?  " 

"  How'dy,  Mist'  Button,  how'dy.  Mist'  Craig." 
Josephus  made  his  most  deferential  bow.  "  I  jes' 
thought  as  haow  I'd  drap  raoun'  heah  dis  maw'n — " 


I  2  2    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

He  hesitated,  then  throwing  himself  off  Jude's  back 
he  took  a  step  nearer.  "  Is  yo'-uns  been  intu  Pat- 
terson sence  las'  ebenin'  ?  "  he  dropped  his  voice  to 
a  low  tone. 

"  No.     Why  do  you  ask?  " 

"  Dey  done  been  up  tu  some  debblement,  I  'low. 
Some  fool  debble  done  kill  my  mule."  His  voice 
shook.  *'  Dey  kyan'  kick  me  dat-a-way.  I 's  gwine 
git  de  law  on  'em.     I 's  gwine  —  " 

"Where  was  the  mule  ?  "  interrupted  Dick. 

*'  Yandah  by  de  log  chu'ch  in  de  hollah.  I 's 
gwine  —  " 

**  How  did  he  come  to  be  there?"  said  Craig, 
impatiently.     "  When  was  it  ?  " 

**  I  done  rode  'im  dar." 

"  What  were  you  doing  there?" 

Josephus  looked  off  over  the  treetops  in  an  absent 
way. 

*'  What  are  you  niggers  up  to  ?  "  Craig  spoke 
sharply. 

"  Dar's  de  chu'ch.  We  cullud  people  all  goes  tu 
chu'ch  right  smaht." 

"  Yes,  you  colored  people  are  a  right  smart  set. 
You  've  been  holding  political  meetings  right  smart, 
and  I  opine  you  '11  some  of  you  be  swinging  from 
the  trees  in  Patterson  with  ropes  round  your  necks 
right  smart  too,  before  you  know  it." 

Josephus'  face  grew,  if  possible,  a  shade  darker 
than  its  wont.  Richard  spoke  up  with  a  short 
laugh.  "  Why  don't  you  put  a  bullet  into  some  o* 
their  mules?  " 

*'  Richard,  you  know  better  than  to  give  such  ad- 
vice as  that.     I  tell  you,  Josephus,  you  fellows  have 


Josephus'  Secret  123 

got  to  keep  quiet.  There  's  no  use  in  your  holding 
meetings  and  trying  to  get  into  pohtics ;  you  must 
wait  till  the  South  cools  off.  They  're  red  hot  yet 
from  the  licking  they've  had.  You  keep  still  and 
wait  and  educate  yourselves.  Get  ready  to  vote 
by  learning  to  read  and  write  and  think,  and 
then  —  " 

'*Lawd!  Mist'  Craig,  what's  yo'  talkin'  'bout? 
We  ain'  no  skyule  o'  ouh  own.  Ouh  chillun  ain' 
'lowed  in  de  white  folkses'  skyule.  Dar  ain'  five 
niggahs  in  dis-yer  county  kin  read  'nd  figgah.  Git 
de  ed'caishun  !  Ef  we  kyan'  git  de  law  fo'  we-uns,  hu- 
come  we  gwine  git  de  ed'caishun?  " 

Richard,  seated  on  a  stump,  was  pounding  a  sap- 
ling twig  with  the  handle  of  his  knife.  His  was  one 
of  those  rare  natures  that  never  outlive  their  boy- 
hood. He  was  making  a  whistle.  "  Jim,"  he  said, 
looking  up  in  his  friend's  face,  *'  I  tell  you  what  I 
think.  I  think  this  whole  business  is  darned  mean. 
It  's  low-down  mean."  The  bark  came  off  with  a 
quick  jerk.  He  looked  at  it,  and  turned  it  over  in 
his  hand  meditatively.  "  You  wanted  something 
of  us,  didn't  you,  Joe?  Out  with  it,  don't  mind 
him.  Craig  barks;  he  never  bites.  I'm  the  fel- 
low that  bites." 

Josephus'  heart  was  too  heavy.  He  could  not 
smile.  "  I 's  baoun'  tu  git  nurrer  mule,"  he  hesi- 
tated. The  young  men  were  silent.  Richard  kept 
on  whittling.  ''I — I  —  come  raoun'  tu  ax  yo'- 
uns  fo'  de  loan  o'  de  money.  I  'low  I  kin  git 
right  smaht  o'  jobbin'  f'om  Mist'  Ridgeway,  and 
dar's  young  Mist'  Mahshall  come  back  'g'in,  I 
'low  he  '11  he'p  some,  an'  I  done  save  a  right  smaht 


1 24    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

o'   money  heah."     He  drew  the  stocking  from  his 
bosom. 

**  Well,  how  much  have  you  there?"  said  Craig. 

Josephus  poured  the  money  into  his  red  cotton 
handkerchief  and  began  laboriously  counting  it. 
''Heah's  eight  dollahs." 

**  I  guess  there 's  more  than  that,"  said  Craig, 
stooping  down  and  separating  the  coins  with  one 
finger.     "  Eight  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents." 

Josephus  took  a  silver  quarter  from  his  trousers' 
pocket,  adding  it  to  the  heap.  It  had  a  hole  in  it, 
and  he  was  saving  it  for  luck.  "Dar's  nine  dol- 
lahs," he  said. 

"  How  much  will  a  mule  cost?"  said  Craig. 

"  I  done  give  fifty-one  dollahs  fo'  dat  ar  mule 
dey  done  kill." 

"  He  can't  get  a  mate  for  this  one  for  less  than 
that,"  said  Dick. 

"  Well,"  said  Craig,  taking  the  reins  of  their 
idle  team,  and  drawing  up  their  heads  impatiently, 
"well,  what  do  you  say?" 

Richard  laughed  in  his  deliberate  way.  He 
placed  the  whistle  between  his  lips  and  blew  a 
shrill  note.  "  We  must  have  that  stone  hauled 
for  the  lower  road,"  he  said,  then  shutting  his 
knife  with  a  click  he  thrust  it  deep  in  his  trousers* 
pocket,  and  drew  out  his  wallet  and  proceeded  to 
investigate  the  contents.  "  I  declare,  I  'm  not  very 
flush,"  said  he.     "  What  do  you  say?  " 

Josephus  drew  out  a  huge  silver  watch  and  eyed 
it  lovingly.  It  had  been  given  to  his  father  by  his 
old  master,  and  was  a  precious  possession.  He 
turned  it  over  in  his  hand  and  watched  the  faces 


Josephus'  Secret  125 

of  the  two  young  men.  They  quietly  calculated 
their  expenses  for  the  next  two  months,  and  made 
up  the  money  between  them.  Then  James  Craig 
turned  sharply  around. 

"Look  here,  Josephus,"  he  said,  ''you're  no  fool, 
if  you  are  black.  You  're  not  to  let  on  to  a  living 
soul  where  you  got  this  money,  hear?  Here.  Give 
me  that  watch.  There  !  Now,  if  anything  is  said, 
say  you  sold  your  watch,  and  when  this  money  is 
made  up,  we  '11  give  it  back,  and  you  can  say  you 
bought  it  back  again.  See?  That  lets  us  out, 
and  you,  too.  Mind,  we  don't  want  your  watch; 
you  must  job  for  us  for  part  of  the  money,  and 
pay  down  what  you  can,  and  we  '11  give  you  all 
summer  to  do  it  in." 

"  I  decla'r',  fo'  de  Lawd,  Mist'  Craig,  I  '11  job  fo' 
de  money  right  fa'r,  an'  I  '11  ax  de  Lawd  fo'  tu  bress 
yo'-uns,"  exclaimed  Josephus,  fervently. 

Craig  smiled  grimly  as  Josephus  disappeared 
over  the  trail.  "  I  suppose  we  are  a  pair  of  fools," 
he  said,  gathering  up  the  reins  again. 

Dick  threw  away  his  whistle,  and  seizing  the 
handles  of  the  cultivator  jerked  it  into  place,  and 
they  started  down  the  long  row  of  young  trees. 
"  It  was  a  dirt  mean  trick,"  he  said  at  last,  "  and 
the  fellow  deserved  help." 


CHAPTER  IX 

A   DUSKY   COQUETTE 

WHILE  Josephus  was  solemnly  burying  his 
mule,  Gabriella  Gunn  was  preparing  a 
breakfast  of  bacon,  corn  bread,  and  molasses  in  her 
stepmother's  cabin,  for  a  swarm  of  hungry  black 
urchins.  Nance,  the  mother  of  the  brood,  sat  in 
one  corner  spinning,  and  smoking  her  cob  pipe, 
unheeding  the  hubbub  around  her.  Gabriella  went 
back  and  forth  from  the  fireplace  to  the  table, 
around  which  the  children  stood,  cooking  and  serv- 
ing them  at  the  same  time.  A  coffee-pot  and  a 
few  dishes  were  in  a  rude  cupboard  near  the  fire- 
place, but  on  the  table  were  only  an  iron  pan  of 
corn  cakes,  baked  nearly  an  inch  thick,  and  the 
black  jug  of  sorghum  molasses.  The  corn  cakes 
she  broke  apart  and  saturated  with  molasses,  or 
sandwiched  with  bacon,  and  gave  into  the  out- 
stretched, greasy  little  black  paws. 

**  Yo'  Alexandah,  haish."  A  howl  of  anger  burst 
forth  from  a  chubby  youngster  who  had  been 
quietly  licking  the  corn-cob  stopper  of  the  molasses 
jug.  "  Sal,  quit  yo'  snatchin' ;  I  '11  box  yo'  d'rec'ly." 
The  rude  meal  finished,  she  gave  to  the  largest  girl 
a  long  homespun  towel  and  sent  them  all  down  "  tu 
■de  branch,"  to  wash  off  the  grease  and  molasses. 
Then  she  set  the  table  with  a  few  dishes  for  Nance 
and  herself  and  made  coffee. 

126 


A  Dusky  Coquette  127 

"Come,  Nance,"  she  said  at  length,  "  leab  go 
an'  eat."  Nance  rose  slowly,  shook  the  ashes  from 
her  pipe  into  the  fireplace,  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 
She  was  a  large,  comely  negress,  with  a  red  cotton 
turban  on  her  head,  and  huge  gold  loops  in  her  ears. 

Her  husband  had  been  dead  a  year,  but  she  and 
Gabriella  had  done  much  better  without  him,  since 
his  presence  in  the  household  had  brought  no  other 
income  to  the  family  than  the  addition  yearly  of 
another  black  urchin  to  the  swarm  around  their  door 
to  be  clothed  and  fed ;  yet  Nance  had  mourned  him 
loudly  ever  since  he  had  been  found  dead  in  the 
branch,  where  he  had  fallen  in  a  drunken  fit. 

"I  'low  Pete's  daid,"  said  Nance. 

'*  Naw,  Pete  ain'  daid.  He  's  hid'n'  yandah  by 
Throop's  mill.     We  ain'  shet  o'  Pete  yet." 

"Why  n't  yo'  leab  Pete  be  took?  He  ain'  no 
good  tu  we-uns  nohow." 

"  I  ain'  gwine  'low  no  kin  tii  me  be  hung.  Pete 
gits  drunk,  but  he  doan  kill  ol'  women." 

The  doorway  was  suddenly  darkened,  and  both 
women  started. 

"  Laws,  Mist'  Mahshall !  "  said  Nance.  "  Hu- 
come  yo'  heah  fo'  sun-up?  I  declar'  yo'  gib  my 
h'a't  sich  a  jump  hit  like  tu  made  me  holla."  ^ 

It  was  Lord  Chesterfield.  Nance  and  he  greeted 
each  other  with  elaborate  courtesy,  while  Ga- 
briella, with  her  back  to  him,  went  on  with  her 
cooking.  Nance  looked  on  him  as  a  fine  match  for 
her  stepdaughter,  and  beamed  on  him  with  shining 
face  as  she  urged  him  to  sit  and  eat.  Piqued  at 
Gabriella's  silence,  he  would  not  be  pacified  by 
Nance's  kind  ofi"er.     He  remained  standing,  leaning 


I  28    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

against  the  doorpost,  and  made  facetious,  sarcastic 
remarks,  and  told  of  Josephus'  loss  with  evident 
satisfaction. 

Gabriella  took  a  wooden  bucket  and  left  the  cabin 
as  he  talked.  She  entered  a  cow-shed  at  the  rear, 
and  began  milking.  Soon  he  came  sauntering  by 
the  door  and  stooped  to  look  in.  She  glanced  up 
at  him  sideways. 

*'  Ain'  yo'  mighty  fine  an'  peart  tu  be  stan'in' 
raoun'  a  caow-shed  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yo'  haish,"  he  said  with  a  laugh.  ''Yo'  gittin' 
so  big-feelin'  I  kyan'  keep  step  wid  yo'  no  mo',  sence 
Mist'  Ridgeway  come  daoun  heah  sta'tin'  a  bo'din'- 
haous,  yo'  tu'nin'  ovah  sich  a  heap  o'  money  wid 
dis-yer  caow  'n'  chick'ns." 

Gabriella  made  no  answer;  the  milk  streamed 
into  the  pail  with  a  steady  swish,  swish,  while  the 
cow  stood  with  half-closed  eyes,  chewing  her  cud. 
A  black  hen  scratched  and  clucked  contentedly  to 
her  brood  outside  the  door.  Chas  walked  away, 
but  as  Gabriella  ceased  milking  and  took  up  her 
pail,  he  turned  back. 

"Look  a-heah,"  he  said,  going  close  to  her  side, 
"ain'  yo'  an'  me  nebber  gwine  git  jined?  Heah 
I  been  co'tin'  yo'  ebber  sence  I  come  back,  an'  yo' 
doan  say  nuff 'n'  'g'in  hit,  an'  now  yo'  go  cuttin'  sich 
capahs,  like  I  wan*  no  mo*  dan  de  graoun'  yo' 
walks  on." 

She  put  down  her  pail,  and  stood  facing  him  with 
arms  akimbo,  then  swaying  her  lithe  form  back  and 
forth,  she  broke  into  laughter.  Chas  bore  her 
merriment  a  moment,  then  seizing  her  by  the  arm 
he  shook  her. 


A  Dusky  Coquette  129 

"  Quit  dis-yer  foolin'.  I  come  heah  fo*  ax  yo'  is 
we  gwine  git  jined.  I  ain'  gwine  be  fooled  wid 
dis-a-way  no  mo'." 

She  pulled  away,  and  taking  up  the  pail  turned 
toward  the  cabin,  still  shaking  with  laughter.  With 
one  stride  he  placed  himself  between  her  and  the 
door. 

"  Yo'  ain'  gwine  git  shet  o'  me  dat-a-way." 

"  Naw,  I  ain'  gwine  git  shet  o'  yo'  dat-a-way," 
she  said,  and  turning  again  she  entered  the  shed, 
and  passing  through  a  place  where  a  board  had 
fallen  from  the  farther  side,  was  back  in  the  cabin 
singing  and  talking  with  Nance  before  he  realized 
how  she  had  escaped  him. 

**  Dar  's  Sis'  Catherine  jes'  dyin'  fo'  a  sight  o'  yo', 
Chas,"  she  called  after  him  as  he  strode  sullenly 
away.  "  Why  n't  yo*  call  thar,  sence  yo'  out  an' 
right  peart  dis  mawnin'  ?  Heah,  Kit,"  she  continued, 
as  the  children  came  scuffling  back  from  the  stream 
below,  '*  yo'  tu'n  de  cow  loose,  an'  mine  yo' 
watch  aout;  do'n  let  her  run  off  like  yo'  did 
yis'day." 

Well  might  Chas  be  sullen.  Often  had  his  dusky 
Phillis  tormented  him  thus,  only  to  stimulate  his 
wilful  nature  to  more  persistent  attentions.  This 
morning  he  had  meant  to  gloat  over  Josephus'  loss, 
and  say  smart  things  at  his  expense,  not  to  press  his 
suit.  Since  she  would  not  listen  to  the  former, 
he  had  been  teased  into  the  latter,  and  now,  vexed 
beyond  measure,  he  kicked  the  sticks  out  of  his  path, 
and  shied  stones  at  the  few  stray  cows  browsing  in 
the  underbrush,  along  the  way  to  his  lonely  striped 
pole. 


130    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Yo'  ain'  nebber  gwine  git  nudder  man  like  dat 
come  co'tin'  yo',''  said  Nance,  watching  him  disap- 
pear down  the  windings  of  the  road.  "  Yo'  cahy 
yo'  haid  like  yo'  tu  good  fo'  de  bes',  yo'  does. 
Cutt'n'  capahs  Hke  yo'  a  bohn'd  lady  wha'  sits  in  de 
po'ch  an'  waves  de  fan,  an'  calls  de  fine  gen'lem  tu 
de  railin'  tu  bow  deir  haids,  an'  talk  an'  laugh,  yo' 
does." 

"  Oh,  g'  long.  He  t'ink'n  haow  he  gwine  set  in 
de  po'ch  he's  own  se'f  an'  'low  me  du  de  totin'  fo 
him.  I  knows  Chas.  He  'lows  tu  git  de  cow  an' 
de  buttah,  an'  de  chickin  an'  de  aigs.  Ain'  yo'  'n' 
me  wo'k  an'  strive  fo'  dese  heah?  I  ain*  longin'  fo' 
no  man  tu  hang  raoun'  de  doah,  I  ain'."  She  seated 
herself  at  a  rude  loom  in  one  end  of  the  cabin. 
These  women  spun  the  yarn  and  wove  the  cloth  for 
many  of  their  neighbors  as  well  as  themselves.  Her 
body  swayed  back  and  forth  as  she  threw  the 
shuttle,  and  the  heavy  beam  rose  and  fell.  **Dar's 
Pete,"  she  went  on.  ''  No  good  he  is.  Alius 
drunk." 

"  Yo'  paw  nuvvah  did  n'  brung  Pete  up  right," 
said  Nance. 

"  Dey  ain'  nobody  brung  up  right,  I  reckon,"  said 
Gabriella. 

*'Yo'  ain'  nuthin'  tu  say,"  said  her  stepmother. 
She  was  proud  of  Gabriella's  accomplishments,  and 
never  missed  an  opportunity  of  telling  how  she 
could  **  play  on  de  melogimum  dat  fine  yo"s  would 
cl'ar  jump  and  holla,  tu  hear  how  she  make  de 
chune  fly." 

''  Pete  moughnt  'a*  had  de  same  chance  I  had  ef 
he  'd  a  min'  tu  wo'k  like  I  done  wo'k." 


A  Dusky  Coquette  131 

"  Pete  did  n'  ought  tu  lef  wo'kin'  on  de  co'n- 
patch,"  said  Nance.  While  the  two  women  talked, 
the  subject  of  their  conversation  still  lay  in  the  cave 
of  gray  rock,  in  drunken  stupor,  the  jug  of  whiskey 
half  empty,  and  the  food  Gabriella  had  sent  him 
half  eaten. 


CHAPTER  X 

MORNING   SONGS   AND   DOGWOOD  BLOOMS 

PORTIA  stood  under  one  of  the  arched  gate- 
ways in  the  early  morning,  looking  up  at  the 
great  silent  house,  and  then  down  the  road  where 
the  line  of  rail  fence  stretched  itself,  a  fascinat- 
ing tangle  of  wild  shrubbery  in  full  bloom.  Lift- 
ing her  dress  a  little,  she  moved  one  neatly  clad  foot 
about  in  the  long  grass  and  weeds  to  see  if  it  were 
too  wet  to  venture  after  dogwood  blossoms. 

"  Good-morning,  Josephus,"  she  said  brightly. 
**  Has  the  man  been  taken  yet?  I  would  have  been 
hurt  if  you  had  not  come  along  yesterday." 

"  Naw,  Miss  Po'tia."  He  looked  meditatively  ofif 
a  moment,  then  dismounting,  he  approached  her, 
and  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  Miss  Po'tia,  is  yo'  gwine  be 
mad  wid  me?  I  nuvvah  tole  'em  whar  Pete  war. 
Gabr'ella,  yo'  knows  her,  wha'  totes  yo'  aigs  'n'  but- 
tah,  she 's  a  right  smaht,  peart  gal.  She  no  low- 
down  niggah.  I  ain'  gwine  'low  no  kin  tu  her  be 
took  an'  hung  tu  de  fus'  tree  come  'long,  fo*  what 
he  nuvvah  did  n'  du." 

*'  Why,  Josephus,  how  dare  you?  He  might  kill 
some  one  else,  and  the  murder  would  be  on  your 
head,"  she  exclaimed  in  horror. 

''  Naw,  Pete  nuvvah,"  he  replied,  earnestly.  "  Her 
own  husban*  done  hit.  De  ol'  man  he  bery  debbil, 
he  are.    He 's  aout'n  de  'tentiary  hid'n'  yandah  in  ol' 

132 


Morning  Songs  and  Dogwood  Blooms      i  33 

Throop's  mill.  He  do'n  dar  show  he's  se'f.  Ef  he 
did  n'  done  hit,  hu-come  he  doan  come  aout  an' 
make  a  fuss  'bouts  de  killin'  o'  he's  woman?" 

"  But  you  don't  know,  Josephus;  you  may  be  put 
in  prison  yourself  for  hiding  him." 

"  Yas,  I  knows.  Pete  low-down  good-fo'-nuth'n' 
niggah,  but  he  ain'  no  mo'  ha'm  dan  any  po'  fool 
wha'  kyan'  leab  de  whuskey  'lone.  He  .starvin', 
pore  critter.  He  kyan'  git  nuffin'  tu  eat  'daout  he 
gits  took." 

*'  But  you  see  what  he  was  going  to  do  to  me." 

"  Yas,  Miss  Po'tia,  I  knows.  He  war  gwine  git 
dat  gol'  chain  off'n  yo'  'n'  git  Kit  tu  sell  hit  tu  git 
'im  victuals." 

'*  Why,  can't  you  see,  Josephus,  what  a  risk  you 
are  running  to  let  such  a  man  have  his  liberty? 
What  if  you  had  n't  come  by  when  you  did?  What 
would  have  become  of  me?" 

**  I  knows,  Miss  Po'tia,  dar 's  whar  't  is.  De  Lawd 
done  sont  me  dat  time.  Ain'  yo'  b'leeb  de  Lawd 
watchin'   aout  right  smaht  fo'  we-uns?" 

"Why,  certainly,  but  he  doesn't  always  interfere. 
How  was  it  with  the  poor  old  woman  up  the  moun- 
tain, else?  The  Lord  doesn't  mean  creatures  like 
that  to  run  at  large ;   he  ought  to  be  shut  up." 

Josephus  scratched  his  head  a  moment.  Jude  was 
contentedly  eating  grass  by  the  roadside.  ''  Miss 
Po'tia,  heah  's  wha'  I  t'inks.  De  Lawd  done  sont  me 
tu  save  yo'  an'  he'p  Pete.  01'  man  Toplins  kill 
he's  woman  he's  own  se'f.  He  wusser  'n  a  mad 
pizen  ho'net.  I  done  took  Pete  a  hunk  o*  co'n 
bread  'n'  meat  fo*  Gabr'ella,  fo'  keep  de  life  in  'Im ; 
n*  I  done  got  tu  bury  de  mule  fo'  dat  tu,"  he  added 


)_> 


r  34    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

bitterly,  "  an'  when  dey  debbles  gits  off'n  de  scent, 
we  gwine  sen'  'im  aout'n  de  country  right  smaht." 
His  voice  rose  in  an  angry  quiver.  "  Ain'  I  hones' 
man?  Hu-come  dey  go  shoot'n'  my  mule?  We 
kyan'  git  nothin',  noh  hoi'  nothin',  'daout  dey  debbles 
tek  hit.  Ef  I  'low  Pete  be  took,  dey  '11  hang  him 
'daout  a  hyarin'.  Ef  I  'low  him  git  cl'ar,  dey '11  fin' 
out  ol'  Toplins,  an'  de  right  man  '11  be  hung  likely. 
Oh,  Mis  Po'tia,  doan  tell  'em.  I  sw'ar  Pete  nebber 
done  hit.  Dar's  Gabr'ella,  she  ain'  done  nuffin'  tu 
hab  sich  a  brudder  nohow.  Miss  Po'tia,  yo'  doan 
know  how  de  worl'  are  in  dis-yer  No'th  C'liny.  I 
kyan'  'low  Pete  be  took." 

"I  don't  know,  Josephus,"  Portia  shook  her  head. 

With  shaking  voice  he  implored,  "Oh,  doan!  I 
sw'ar  he  won'  do  no  ha'm.  I  '11  watch  'im  an'  sen' 
'im  away,  shuah.     Dar  's  Gabr'ella ;  yo'  knows  her  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  I  am  sorry  for  her,  but  think  how  dreadful 
to  be  the  means  of  having  any  more  such  awful 
crimes  committed." 

**Miss  Po'tia,  I  sw'ar  fo'  de  good  Lawd,  I  kyan'  du 
no  mo',  dat  I  won'  'low  no  ha'm  come.  Doan  say 
nuffin'  ontwell  yo'  knows  like  I  knows.  Ef  Pete  's 
took,  dar '11  be  murder  too,  an'  de  white  folks  '11  du 
de  kiUin'." 

•*  Well,  I  '11  wait  a  little,  Josephus,  but  it 's  a  fear- 
ful thing,  unless  you  are  perfectly  sure." 

*'  Ef  I  wan'  pufeckly  shuah  I  would  n'  ax  yo',  but, 
Lawd,  I  kyan'  'low  him  be  took.  I  knows  how  dey 
debbles  does,  I  kyan'  'low  Pete  be  took,  'case  he  's  a 
libbin'  critter,  an'  de  way  dey  does,  'pears  lak  dey  'd 
hu't  'im  ef  he  war  stone  daid."  He  spoke  almost  in 
a  whisper,  and  she  shuddered.    "  De  Lawd  bress  yo', 


Morning  Songs  and  Dogwood  Blooms      135 

Miss    Po'tia,  de    Lawd's    sun    shine    on   yo'  all  yo' 
days." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  she  said,  looking  after  him.  "  What 
can  one  do?  But  there,  I  can't  help  it  now,  and  I 
am  going  to  keep  still."  She  shut  her  lips  firmly  and 
pushed  back  her  hair  with  both  hands. 

**  I  don't  care  if  it  is  wet,"  she  said.  She  tucked 
up  her  skirts,  glanced  down  the  road  at  a  tall  dog- 
wood waving  over  the  rail  fence,  and  then  at  the 
house,  where  the  curtains  were  still  drawn,  and 
started  on  a  run,  arriving  at  the  goal  with  rosy 
cheeks  and  shortened  breath.  The  flowers  were 
out  of  reach,  but  she  climbed  the  fence  and  pulled 
the  boughs  down,  loosening  her  hair  and  losing  her 
hat.  '*  There  !  "  she  said  at  last,  adding  one  more 
spray  to  the  heap  below.  The  sun,  just  rising, 
touched  the  tops  of  the  hills  with  gold,  while  the 
valley  still  slept  beneath  the  mists.  Oh,  the  enchant- 
ing world  !  A  fairyland  of  beauty  and  song !  She 
sat  on  the  top  rail  of  the  fence,  and  throwing  one 
arm  around  the  dogwood,  leaned  her  head  against 
it  and  looked  off,  watching  the  mists  slowly  rise  like 
a  curtain,  revealing  the  long  slopes  of  meado\y 
beneath  and  the  shining  river  in  the  distance.  A 
cat-bird  in  a  laurel  thicket  began  singing  anew. 
Portia  lifted  her  head,  listened  a  moment,  and  then 
sang  too. 

That  tormenting  rascal,  Cupid,  a  regular  will-o'- 
the-wisp  for  leading  poor  men  into  swamps  of 
dilemmas,  had  perched  himself  at  John  Marshall's 
bed's  head  before  daybreak,  and  pricking  him  with 
an  arrow,  had  whispered,  "  Portia  Van  Ostade," 
in  his   ear.     That  was   enough.      His   poor   victim 


I  36    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

tossed  and  turned.  If  he  dozed,  it  was  only  to  see 
the  great  hving-room  of  the  old  home,  and  the  tea 
table,  and  Portia's  fair  face  above  it.  The  oftener 
he  saw  this  winning  face,  the  more  determined  he 
became  to  some  day  possess  it,  —  to  own  it,  as  it 
were.  Men,  young  men  at  least,  always  expect  to 
own  their  wives  just  as  they  have  owned  their 
devoted  mothers  and  sisters.  What  were  wives  and 
mothers  and  sisters  created  for,  if  not  for  men,  of 
course?  The  only  creature  of  womankind  a  man 
cannot  own  is  his  daughter,  if  he  be  fortunate 
enough  to  have  one.  Her  he  must  educate,  earn 
for,  live  for,  and  love,  that  some  other  man  may 
eventually  own  her.  O  righteous  retribution  !  Poor 
fathers  of  daughters  ! 

John  bore  the  torments  of  the  mischievous  arrows 
for  a  time,  then  rose  and  plunged  his  head  into  a 
basin  of  cold  water,  and  soon  was  out  in  the  sweet 
cool  air,  striding  up  the  red  road  that  led  past  the 
old  home.  Cupid  made  John  his  sport  that  morn- 
ing. He  led  him  Into  the  laurel  thicket  to  get  rain- 
jewelled  blossoms  for  Miss  Katherine,  and  there 
persuaded  him  to  sit  on  a  boulder  and  think  It  all 
over.  There  John  sat  when  Josephus  rode  by  with- 
out seeing  him,  and  there  he  sat  when  Portia  flashed 
by  like  a  bird  and  stopped  just  beyond  him,  and 
his  heart  had  to  stand  still,  and  his  tongue  was 
tied,  and  wicked  little  Cupid's  work  was  done  in 
that  same  instant.  He  laughed  and  perched  on 
the  fence  at  Portia's  side,  while  the  birds  sang;  and 
she,  unheeding  his  presence,  or  that  of  the  poor 
smitten  wanderer  in  the  laurel  thicket,  turned  her 
head  this  way  and  that  and  sang  too. 


Morning  Songs  and  Dogwood  Blooms      i  37 

John  thought  of  his  dream,  the  voice  that  burst 
upon  his  ear  while  he  waited  in  the  moonHght  and 
shadow,  sounding  again  in  the  beautiful  early  morn- 
ing, and  mingling  with  the  bird-notes  in  arias  and 
trills.  Portia  sang  anything  and  everything  as  she 
watched  the  mists  rise.  She  mixed  her  songs  in  a 
joyous  medley  and  invented  new  caprices,  after  the 
manner  of  the  cat-bird  in  the  thicket.  John  sat 
on  the  boulder,  his  head  between  his  hands,  his 
heart  gone.  What  should  he  do?  Presently  she 
stopped  singing,  and  still  sat  looking  off  over  the 
valley  lost  in  thought.  Her  lips  parted  with  a 
smile.  She  was  thinking  of  her  caller  of  the  even- 
ing before,  and  wondering  a  dozen  different  things 
about  him. 

'*  Good-morning."  She  started  to  see  him  stand- 
ing before  her.  "  Is  this  your  custom,  to  do  your 
practising  with  the  birds?" 

She  leaped  from  the  fence  in  haste,  as  he  stepped 
forward  to  assist  her,  and  laughed  while  her  cheeks 
reddened.  **  I  got  up  alone,  so  I  can  come  down 
alone,"  she  said.  "  No,  indeed,  this  is  not  my 
custom.     It   is   the  event   of  a  lifetime." 

"  What  a  fortunate  man  I  am,  then,  to  happen 
along  as  I  did  !  " 

"  No,  you  are  not.  The  birds  put  me  out.  Think 
of  all  the  instruction  I  have  had,  and  no  one  teaches 
them." 

"  Singing  comes  by  nature,  just  as  the  voice 
does.  You  would  sing  if  you  had  never  had  any 
instruction." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Haydn's  '  Creation  '  as  I  looked 
over  the  valley ;   think  of  singing  the  arias  in  that 


I  38    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

without  instruction."  She  laughed,  stooping  to 
gather  her  arms  full  of  the  dogwood  blossoms. 

*'  Let  me  take  those  for  you.  You  will  be  wet; 
they  are  covered  with  rain." 

"  I  don't  care  now ;  I  am  wet  already,  —  com- 
pletely draggled.  Why  did  you  come  here  and 
catch  me  in  such  a  plight?  I  am  very  particular." 
They  both  laughed  merrily,  neither  knew  why,  but 
John  took  the  wet  sprays  from  her  as  they  walked 
on  together. 

"  Now  you  can  hold  up  your  dress,"  said  he.  She 
demurely  obeyed. 

"  I  intended  trying  to  see  you  to-day,  at  any  rate, 
only  not  befdre  breakfast,"  he  said  after  a  moment's 
silence.  *'  I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask.  I  would 
make  a  bold  plunge  and  ask  it  now,  only  that  I 
want  a  good  excuse  for  calling  again  soon." 

**  Does  it  require  so  much  courage  ?  "  She  glanced 
up  and  saw  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face. 

**  It  does  indeed.  My  mother,  her  ward,  her 
maids,  and  trappings  are  thinking  of  swooping  down 
on  poor  little  Patterson,  to  be  near  me  this  summer, 
they  say.  What  shall  I  do?  You  see,  I  must 
appeal  to  you  for  help."  Portia  smiled,  although 
the  color  left  her  face,  and  then  surged  back,  ting- 
ing her  neck  and  ears,  and  up  into  the  roots  of  her 
hair.     He  saw  it,  and  his  heart  beat  faster. 

"  In  that  case  it  is  I  who  need  courage,  not  you," 
she  said  ;  ''  when  will  she  be  here?  " 

**  I  don't  know ;  they  may  not  come  at  all,  but  if 
they  do  —  "  he  paused,  and  they  both  stood  still. 
A  great  drooping  acacia  hid  them  from  the  house- 
Portia  looked  up  and  met  his  eyes  once  more. 


Morning  Songs  and  Dogwood  Blooms      i  39 

''What  shall  I  do?  "  she  aske^  frankly.  '*  There 
is   no  other   place." 

"  Why  need  there  be?  "    he  replied. 

**  That  is  so,"  she  said,  straightening  herself 
proudly,  and  striving  once  more  for  self-mastery. 
"  Bring  them  to  me  certainly,  and  I  will  try  to 
make  them  at  least  comfortable,  and  —  "  she  hesi- 
tated —  **  thank  you  for  telling  me  in  time."  Her 
manner  had  grown  cold,  but  how  could  he  blame 
her?  She  could  not  know  what  he  was  repressing. 
He  felt  angry  with  his  mother.  Why  could  she 
not  stay  away  and  leave  him  to  woo  this  fascinating 
enienia  before  him  unmolested?  ''She  will  ruin 
my  hopes,"  he  thought;  "she  will  be  cruel  if  she 
once  suspects." 

Portia  moved  to  walk  on,  but  John  stood  still, 
holding  her  flowers,  and  looking  off  not  to  see  her 
motion.  He  wished  to  say  more,  but  how?  "  Miss 
Van  Ostade,"  he  said  desperately,  "  I  hope  —  at 
least  I  am  sure  —  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  under- 
stand me.  I  know  you  would  prefer  to  have  almost 
any  one  rather  than  my  mother  come  into  your 
home,  but,  believe  me,  you  are  too  sensitive.  It  is 
very  different  from  what  you  imagine.  This  home 
was  sold  long  ago ;  it  is  yours  now,  not  ours,  and 
you  are  an  angel  of  mercy  in  it.  Where  could  I 
turn  in  this  predicament  if   you  were  not  here?" 

Portia  smiled.  "  Mrs.  Marshall  may  not  disap- 
point me  as  you  did.  She  may  feel  all  the  disgust 
at  the  present  and  longing  for  the  past  that  I 
endued  you  with." 

"  In  that  case  I  will  take  her  away.  She  shall  not 
stay  to  annoy  you." 


140    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Portia  looked  up  in  astonishment.  His  manner 
of  speaking  of  his  mother  seemed  cold  but  for  his 
smiling,  kindly  face.  He  divined  her  thoughts. 
**  "VVe  are  not  in  the  least  alike,  mother  and  I,  but 
we  understand  each  other.  Now  to  me  it  was 
delightful  to  see  the  old  home  lighted  up,  and 
to  hear  music  in  the  old  rooms.  All  the  pretty 
little  modern  touches  you  have  added  seemed 
just  right.  I  did  not  care  to  have  the  old  time 
back." 

*'  Ah,  but  your  mother  would,  although  it  is  kind 
of  you  to  speak  as  you  do." 

''Kind?     I  can't  help  it." 

*'  Oh,  I  think  you  could.  I  have  thought  the  sit- 
uation all  over.  There  are  many  things  you  might 
think  if  you  were  not  kind  enough  to  think  other- 
wise. Really,  I  must  go  back.  It  is  nicer  out  here, 
but  I  am  not  one  of  your  old-time  Southern  ladies. 
I  am  dependent  on  my  exertions  that  we  may  live, 
—  grandfather,  mother,  and  I."  He  noticed  the 
proud  lift  of  her  head  as  they  walked  on. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  thought  the  situation,  as 
you  call  it,  over  so  much." 

''Why  so?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  tell  you,"  he 
laughed.  "  Are  n't  you  giving  us  credit  for  the 
same  sensitiveness  you  possess  in  that  way?  We 
may  not  deserve  it." 

"  In  what  way?  " 

"Why,  in  thinking  the  situation  over,  as  you  say, 
and  deciding  what  we  think,  and  how  we  would  feel, 
before  you  had  even  seen  us.  You  see,  you  must 
have  been  reckoning  from  within,  out." 


Morning  Songs  and  Dogwood  Blooms      1 4 1 

"I  understand,  —  judging  others  by  myself. 
That  is  wrong,  I  know,  but  — " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon !  No,  no,  not  wrong.  I 
only  realize  that  we  must  suffer  by  comparison, 
when  you  really  come  to  know  us." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Marshall,  I  am  not  quite  so  conceited." 
They  had  reached  the  gate. 

"  What  can  I  say,  what  can  I  do,  to  make  you 
understand  me?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Nothing.  Forgive  me.  It  was  not  your  in- 
tention, I  know,  to  make  me  out  conceited,  but  I 
have  had  reasons  outside  of  myself  for  my  conclu- 
sions. People  here  have  tried  to  be  friendly,  have 
been  really  kind,  but  I  can  see  plainly  enough  that 
I  do  not  answer  to  their  ideas  of  a  lady.  To  them 
I  am  a  Northern  woman  keeping  boarders,  and 
working  with  my  own  two  hands  at  homely  house- 
hold labor." 

Marshall  looked  down  respectfully  at  her  shapely  . 
hands  as  they  held  her  skirts  from  the  wet  grass,,  i^^  j^ 
and  straight  into  her  eyes.     In  that  instant  a  simple  ^'T't?*' 

telegraphy  of  mutual  understanding  passed  between  «  1 1^  - 

them. 

"  I  believe  you,"  he  said.  "  What  fools  they 
are ! " 

*'  Oh,  no  !  I  don't  think  that.  Perhaps  if  I  were 
one  of  them,  I  should  think  as  they  do." 

"  If  you  were  one  of  them,  undoubtedly.  Thank 
Heaven,  you  are  you." 

"  I  must  go  in."  She  glanced  at  the  house  ner- 
vously, and  reached  for  her  flowers.  "  It  won't  do 
to  be  seen  looking  like  this.  I  have  had  my  run, 
now  I  must  don  my  dignity  and  wear  it  all  day." 


142   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

She  sighed  and  looked  down  the  road.  John  smiled 
a  little.  She  turned  quickly  and  caught  the  telltale 
expression  before  he  could  cough  it  away.  In  that 
instant  she  knew  he  had  seen  her  all  the  time,  and 
felt  that  she  wanted  to  get  away  from  him  immedi- 
ately. In  that  same  instant  he  knew  that  she  knew 
it,  and  saw  the  color  flame  back  into  her  face. 

**  Forgive  me;  I  couldn't  help  it,"  he  said  peni- 
tently, and  gave  her  the  flowers.  His  hand  touched 
hers  as  she  took  them ;  she  did  not  notice  it,  but 
he  did.  Some  of  the  sprays  fell  on  the  ground. 
*'  Never  mind  them,"  she  said,  turning  away  hur- 
riedly, but  he  did  mind  them,  and  ran  after,  adding 
them  to  the  rest. 

"I  may  call  again  sometime?"  he  asked.  She 
hesitated.     He  looked  distressed. 

*'  Indeed,  yes,  —  if  you  care  to  —  if  your  —  " 

"  If  my  mother  comes,  of  course,  it  will  be  neces- 
sary, but  that  may  not  be  for  some  time." 

She  paused  in  her  rapid  walk.  He  looked  at  her, 
and  she  looked  up  at  the  still  closed  house.  Some 
one  began  raising  a  curtain.  *'  We  shall  be  glad  to 
see  you,"  she  said. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  replied,  and  hurried  away. 


CHAPTER   XI 
THE    EXCURSION 

PORTIA  sat  in  her  place  at  the  breakfast-table, 
a  full-blown  rose  among  the  ferns  and  dog- 
wood blossoms.  The  color  that  came  into  her 
cheeks  under  the  arched  gateway  had  not  all  left. 
Mr.  Russell  praised  the  beauty  of  the  flowers,  but 
looked  at  her,  much  to  Mr.  Ridgeway's  annoyance ; 
however,  as  all  the  other  guests  did  the  same, 
where  was  the  harm?  She  was  the  life  and  soul  of 
the  place,  and  it  was  the  fashion  there  to  admire  her. 
When  it  was  not  done  in  too  personal  a  manner,  her 
grandfather  did  not  object,  but  he  dearly  loved  to 
have  her  to  himself  once  in  a  while.  She  alone 
could  accompany  his  violin  as  he  liked,  and  during 
these  days  her  time  was  never  her  own,  seldom  his ; 
yet  she  watched  over  his  happiness  and  her  moth- 
er's with  jealous  eyes,  and,  in  a  sense,  all  her  devo- 
tion to  her  guests  was  for  them.  How  else  could 
she  make  a  success  of  her  undertaking,  and  keep 
her  sweetest  of  all  mothers  in  that  health-giving 
climate?  So  she  went  bravely  on  planning,  under 
many  difficulties,  entertainment  for  her  guests. 
On  dull  days  indoors  her  musical  talent  and  her 
grandfather's  violin  formed  a  delightful  feature. 
For  their  excursions,  there  being  no  livery  in  the 
place,  she  was  obliged  to  hire  from  their  neighbors 
horses  and  rigs  which,  to  say  the  least,  were  an- 
tiquated. 

143 


144   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

These  days,  for  John,  passed  happily  and  busily. 
He  spent  some  time  in  New  York  and  Asheville, 
making  aruangements  for  the  building.  Judson 
Chaplain,  a  hearty,  pleasant-voiced  young  Caro- 
linian gentleman,  was  won  by  Marshall's  courteous 
frankness  into  enthusiastic  partnership.  He  re- 
joiced that  he  need  have  no  dealings  with  Monk, — 
who,  by  the  way,  was  not  missed  for  a  time,  —  and 
that  a  telling  blow  to  that  individual's  plans  would 
be  to  insure  Patterson's  superiority  over  Broadgate, 
by  the  erection  of  a  hotel,  that  would  **  eclipse 
anything  in  the  country,  suh."  To  this  end  the 
contract  was  let  to  first-class  builders  in  New  York, 
who  were  to  bring  skilled  workmen  with  them. 
John,  being  the  architect,  acted  as  superintendent. 
He  was  happy  in  this  work.  He  felt  his  spirits  rise 
in  an  exuberance  of  joyousness  as  each  day  passed. 

"  If  I  can  strike  a  bargain  for  a  couple  of  good 
saddle-horses,  will  you  help  me  to  use  them  now 
and  then?  "  he  asked  of  Hanford  Clark,  one  day. 
*'  I  must  have  one." 

"  I  doubt  if  I  can  get  off,"  said  Hanford,  ab- 
sently. 

"  I  shall  get  two  and  risk  it.  It  is  about  time 
you  and  I  struck  up  an  acquaintance,  don't  you 
think?" 

They  both  laughed.  "  Go  slowly,  John.  Does 
the  time  seem  long  to  you?" 

*'Long?  Why  should  n't  it?  I  would  run  in 
twenty  times  a  day  for  a  word  with  you." 

*'  Don't  yet  awhile.  At  least  don't  appear  to  be 
intimate.  You  see,  John,"  Hanford  laid  his  arm 
affectionately  over  his  friend's  shoulder,  **  my  life 


The  Excursion  145 

has  not  been  as  successful  as  yours.  I  have  learned 
to  wait." 

Marshall  looked  in  his  face  frankly.  **  To  wait 
for  what?  "  he  said. 

Hanford  laughed  a  sober  little  laugh.  *'  Oh, 
what  you  please,  —  fortune,  fame,  anything.  I 
did  n't  set  out  to  become  a  station  agent  down 
here,  you  know." 

"Why  have  you  never  married?"  asked  John, 
bluntly. 

"  For  lack  of  money  to  make  a  fit  home  first,  and 
just  as  that  was  in  reach,  lack  of  health,  and  then  —  " 
he  spread  out  both  hands  with  an  almost  petulant 
motion  and  lifted  his  shoulders. 

"Then  what?" 

"  Another  man  had  stepped  in  before  me."  He 
spoke  slowly,  without  looking  at  John,  who  laughed 
self-consciously,  and  drummed  on  the  window  ledge. 
They  were  in  Hanford's  stuffy  little  room  at 
Scrapp's. 

"  Then  she  may  not  have  been  the  right  one. 
At  any  rate,  '  There  are  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as 
ever  were  caught,'  "  said  John,  tritely. 

Hanford  glanced  keenly  in  his  friend's  face. 
**  To  change  the  subject,  when  do  you  expect 
your  mother  on?  " 

"  To  continue  it,  you  mean.  She  never  travels 
alone." 

"  Very  well,  as  you  will." 

"  Own  up,  Hanford,  own  up.     Even  you  —  " 

"  You  have  n't  answered  my  question  yet." 

"  Oh,  beg  pardon.     What  was  it?  " 

"  When  will  your  mother  be  here?  " 
10 


146   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Ah,  yes.  My  mother,  of  course  !  I  forget  your 
deep  interest  in  her.  In  about  three  weeks,  more 
or  less." 

"  So  soon.>  "  said  Hanford,  but  he  thought  it  long 
to  wait. 

"  Marguerite  will  only  entrap  some  poor  fellow  to 
his  ruin  for  her  summer  pastime.  Woe  be  to  who- 
ever falls  into  her  snares !  I  shall  write  mother 
there  is  no  sense  in  bringing  her  out  here,"  said 
John,  mischievously. 

**  Do  so,"  said  Hanford,  grimly. 

"  Too  late.  My  last  letter  betrayed  the  fact  that 
I  found  you  here.  I  half  suspect  that  knowledge  is 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sudden  determination  to  spend 
their  summer  in  the  mountains." 

"  Why  should  your  mother  care?  " 

''  She  would  n't." 

"  Now  you  are  talking  nonsense.  What  do  you 
suppose  has  become  of  Monk?  I  have  n't  seen 
him  for  days." 

**  I  neither  know  nor  care." 

**  He 's  a  great  fellow  to  go  off  now  with  the 
election  coming  on  next  week.  His  interests  are 
suffering,  I  can  tell  him  that." 

"Let  them  suffer.  Who  cares?"  said  John, 
stretching  himself  leisurely.  *'  Look  over  that  trestle 
yonder.  I  have  been  watching  those  buzzards  sail 
round  and  round  in  one  spot  ever  since  we  stood 
here.  There,  one  has  lighted  away  down  below  on 
that  dead  tree." 

"  Some  poor  carcass  there,  no  doubt,"  said  Han- 
ford. They  both  stood  watching  the  ominous  birds 
a  moment,  each  busy  with  his  own  thoughts. 


The  Excursion  147 

"  I  must  go,"  said  Marshall  at  length.  "  See 
here,  you  have  night  service  to  relieve  you  now, 
why  do  you  stay  on  in  this  hole?  Go  up  to  the 
old  place,  —  Miss  Van  Ostade's,  I  mean." 

"  I  think  I  will."  A  few  days  later  found  him  in- 
stalled at  the  house,  seated  at  Mr.  Ridgeway's  right, 
at  table,  a  valuable  addition  to  the  small  coterie 
there. 

The  next  day  John  made  choice  of  saddle-horses. 
He  was  very  particular  with  regard  to  the  extra 
horse,  that  it  should  be  suitable  for  a  lady  to  ride. 
He  whistled  softly  a  measure  of  one  of  Portia's  songs 
as  he  walked  away  after  the  bargain  was  completed. 
Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him.  "  There  are  no 
saddles  to  be  had  in  Patterson.  She  can't  ride 
bareback."  When  the  animals  were  led  into  the 
stables  at  Miss  Katherine's,  behold,  the  pretty  little 
chestnut  mare,  which  had  been  recommended  to 
him  as  being  "  gentle  as  a  kitten,"  was  equipped  for 
a  lady's  use,  even  to  the  carved,  ivory-handled  whip. 

John  was  impatient  and  restless.  He  begged 
Miss  Katherine  to  go  with  him  at  once  to  try  them, 
and  as  they  galloped  over  the  mountain  road,  the 
color  came  into  her  cheeks  and  the  fire  to  her  eyes. 
She  talked  brightly  as  of  old.  The  old  times  seemed 
really  coming  back  to  her.  When  John  lifted  her 
from  the  saddle,  he  thought  she  seemed  ten  years 
younger.  Ah,  what  a  beautifier  happiness  is  !  She 
sang  a  bit  of  an  old  song  he  had  heard  her  sing 
years  before,  as  she  prepared  their  simple  dinner, 
stopping  every  now  and  then  to  admonish  Gertrude. 
The  child  went  to  and  fro,  carrying  dishes  from  the 
kitchen  —  a  separate  building  a  rod  away  from  the 


1 48    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

house  —  to  the  dining-room.  John  smiled  as  he 
Hstened  to  the  low,  sweet  tones  and  the  pleasant 
clatter. 

Mrs.  Wells  sat  at  an  old-fashioned  grand  piano 
and  made  pretty  tinkling  music,  such  as  she  had 
made  for  the  colonel  in  her  young  ladyhood.  John 
wondered  where  her  thoughts  were,  as  she  played 
over  the  tripping  airs  with  their  rippling  accompani- 
ment. A  portrait  of  the  colonel,  stiff  and  dignified, 
hung  in  the  great  square  room.  Her  sightless  eyes 
were  turned  toward  it.  He  saw  her  through  the 
open  French  window  from  where  he  sat  on  the 
piazza,  and  a  suspicious  moisture  gathered  in  his 
eyes.  He  rose  and  sauntered  down  the  path,  and 
smelled  of  Miss  Katherine's  lilies.  ''  If  Donald 
had  only  lived !  "    he  thought. 

"  John,  dinnah  is  on  the  table,"  called  Miss 
Katherine  from  the  doorway.     *'  Come,  ma." 

The  meal  over,  Gertrude  brought  a  pan  of  hot 
water,  and  Katherine  washed  the  few  pieces  of  china 
and  the  old  silver  and  glasses  herself.  *'  Gertrude  is 
so  careless,"  she  said. 

Half  an  hour  later  John  strolled  toward  the  old 
home,  drawn  thither  by  sundry  little  cords  called 
heart-strings.  He  had  been  there  before  that  week, 
and  was  trying  to  think  of  some  adequate  excuse 
for  calling  again  so  soon,  when  a  rattling  team  and 
a  merry  whistle  caused  him  to  look  behind  him. 
The  two  young  planters  were  driving  home  from 
their  orchard  among  the  hills. 

''  Going  our  way?  "  said  Richard.  ''  I  'd  ask  you 
to  ride  if  there  was  only  another  seat." 

"  I  am  on  my  way  to  Mr.  Ridgeway's.     Thanks." 


The  Excursion  149 

"  I  guess  we  can  make  room  for  you  up  here," 
said  James  Craig,  hitching  along. 

"  No,  no,  sit  still.  I  can  stand  and  enjoy  the 
ride,"  said  Marshall.  Placing  one  hand  on  the  rear 
oi  the  long  wagon-box,  he  leaped  lightly  in  and 
stood,  steadying  himself  by  the  shoulders  of  the 
two  on  the  high  spring  seat  in  front,  and  they 
drove  on. 

**  We  have  a  go  on  hand  this  evening,"  said  Craig. 
*'  We  are  to  seat  this  wagon  with  bundles  of  fodder 
and  cushions,  and  the  crowd  are  to  pile  in  and  drive 
over  to  Towanee  Gorge.  The  negroes  are  having  a 
big  time  there." 

"  Heavens  !  What  a  dolt !  "  exclaimed  Marshall. 
*'  They  were  kind  enough  to  include  me  in  the 
party,  and  it  had  entirely  slipped  my  memory." 
Richard  laughed,  and  the  wagon  rattled  on. 

Portia  stood  on  the  steps,  smiling,  enthusiastic. 
The  elderly  gentleman  stood  near.  Mrs.  Van  Ostade 
moved  quietly  among  the  guests  who  were  collected 
on  the  piazza,  with  her  arms  full  of  wraps. 

'*  You  would  better  take  this  shawl,"  she  said  to 
Mrs.  Clare.  "The  air  seems  mild  enough  now,  but 
later  in  the  evening  it  may  be  quite  cool." 

"  Oh,  you  thoughtful  little  woman  !     Thank  you." 

"Do  you  think  she  ought  to  go?"  said  Miss 
Milbourn. 

"  Indeed  she  ought,  and  you  too,"  cried  Portia. 
"  Where  is  your  bonnet?  I  will  get  it."  She  disap- 
peared in  the  house. 

"Aren't  you  going,  Mrs.  Keller?"  said  Mr. 
Betts,  drawing  on  his  gloves,  alert  and  ready,  with 
his  umbrella  under  his  arm. 


1 50    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  No,  I  think  I  will  leave  all  this  nonsense  to  the 
young  folks,"  she  said,  glancing  at  the  elderly- 
gentleman. 

*'  What,  what !  "  said  he  ;  '*  it  won't  do  to  let  them 
have  all  the  interesting  things  to  themselves.  I 
don't  believe  in  growing  old.  Keep  young,  I 
say." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percy  came  down  the  long  stair- 
way. "  Why,  Miss  Milbourn,  are  you  not  going 
with  us  ?  "  they  asked  in  a  breath. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Clare,  ''  Miss  Van  Ostade  has 
gone  for  her  bonnet." 

"  I  think  as  I  am  old,  and  there  will  hardly  be 
room  for  all  in  the  wagon,  perhaps  —  " 

"  Oh,  but  the  carriage  is  going,"  said  Portia,  re- 
turning, '*  and  I  have  the  use  of  the  Gebbs'  buggy; 
two  can  go  in  that."  She  caught  the  dear  old  lady, 
turned  her  about,  and  tied  the  bonnet  under  her 
chin.  *'  There  !  The  moon  will  be  up  as  we  come 
back,  and  this  is  the  last  moonlight  evening  this 
month.  Now  you  and  grandfather  and  Mrs.  Clare 
must  take  the  carriage,  and  Alexander  will  drive, 
and  you,  Mr.  Russell"  (to  the  elderly  gentleman), 
"  will  have  to  go  in  the  wagon  with  us,  —  unless  —  " 

"  Can't  I  drive  with  you  in  the  Gebbs*  buggy? 
That  will  leave  two    extra    places    in    the   wagon." 

Instantly  there  was  an  outcry  on  all  sides.  *'  Oh, 
no  !  "     ''  What  an  idea  !  " 

**  We  want  Miss  Van  Ostade  with  us." 

Portia  felt  annoyed,  but  smiled  pleasantly.  **  You 
see,  Mr.  Russell,  I  can  stand  the  rough  wagon  ride 
better  than  some,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone  to  her 
discomfited  admirer. 


The  Excursion  151 

Hanford  Clark  was  just  coming  up  one  driveway 
as  the  wagon  rattled  up  the  other.  "  Here  they 
come,"  shouted   Mr.  Betts. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Marshall,  so  you  did  not  forget  about 
our  little  excursion,"  said  Portia. 

James  Craig  began  arranging  the  bundles  of 
fodder  passed  up  to  him  by  a  negro  boy,  and 
placing  the  cushions  for  the  seats.  He  glanced  up 
quickly  at  John  and  laughed.  A  serving-maid  stood 
by  with  her  arms  full  of  rugs. 

**  Forget?  Of  course  he  did,"  said  Richard. 
*'  Jim  and  I  picked  him  up  down  the  road  and 
brought  him  on  by  main  force.  Hello,  Mr.  Clark, 
glad  to  see  you." 

''  I  was  on  my  way  here  in  spite  of  Mr.  Button," 
said  John. 

''Now  we  are  ready,  aren't  we,  Mr.  Craig?  "  said 
Portia.  She  ran  back  into  the  house  for  something 
and  was  detained  by  Maggie. 

"  See  here,"  said  Dick  aside  to  Mrs.  Barry,  ''  Jim 
and  I  have  a  scheme.  You  hustle  them  all  in,  — 
the  carriage  load  is  made  up,  —  and  contrive  so 
that  Mr.  Russell  sits  with  Miss  Keller.  He  's  manoeu- 
vring to  be  left  behind  to  drive  in  the  Gebbs'  buggy 
with  Miss  Van  Ostade,  Mr.  Betts  says.  We'll  do  it 
before  he  knows  what 's  happened,  and  start  before 
she  gets  back." 

"  Good,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Barry  with  keen  relish, 
*'  but  who  will  go  with  her?  " 

"  Oh,  leave  her  to  Mr.  Marshall.  He  won't 
object,  I  '11  warrant.  Hello  !  All  aboard  for  Towanee 
Gorge,"  he  shouted,  gathering  up  the  reins.  ''Jim, 
where  are  you  ?  "  Craig  gravely  helped  Mrs.  Barry 


152    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

in,  then  came  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percy.  "  Get  Mr. 
Russell  to  follow  you,"  said  Mrs.  Barry  as  they 
settled  themselves. 

'*  Come,  Mr.  Russell,"  said  Mr.  Percy.  "We 
need  another  gentleman   next." 

*'  Now  Miss  Keller,"  said  Craig. 

'*  Where  is  Miss  Van  Ostade?  "  said  Mr.  Russell, 
looking  about. 

*'  She  '11  be  here  immediately,"  cried  Mrs.  Barry, 
hilariously.  "  Get  in  here  on  this  seat  with  Miss 
Keller,  and  Portia  can  sit  on  the  other  side.  There 
is  room  to  sit  three  on  a  seat,  is  n't  there,  Mr. 
Cfaig?" 

*'  Certainly,  certainly  !  Here,  Mr.  Russell,  that 's 
not  fair,  to  monopolize  all  the  ladies.  I  ought  to 
have  that  seat,  or  Mr.  Clark  there." 

John,  conversing  with  Mrs.  Van  Ostade,  looked 
on,  only  half  comprehending  the  badinage. 

"No,"  said  Hanford,  "you  and  Mr.  Russell 
decide  that  between  you.  I  '11  sit  at  the  end  with 
Mr.  Betts." 

"  That 's  right,  Mr.  Russell,  climb  in,  or  Mr.  Craig 
will  be  ahead  of  you,"  said  Mrs.  Barry. 

"  There,  Jim  !  You  '11  have  to  content  yourself 
with  me  once  more,"  said  Dick.  "You're  no 
match  for  Mr.  Russell." 

"  Right  you  are,"  said  Craig.     "  All  aboard." 

"Ay,  ay,"  cried  Mr.  Betts. 

"  We  're  off,"  said  Dick,  waving  his  whip. 

"Why,  but  Mr.  Marshall  and  Miss  Van  Ostade 
are  neither  of  them  in,"  said  Miss  Keller. 

"  I  '11  go  for  her,"  said  the  elderly  gentleman, 
rising.      The    horses    sprang    forward    at    a    quiet 


The  Excursion  153 

little  fillip  from  the  whip,  and  he  sat  down  again 
quicker  than  he  got  up.  "  Oh,  beg  pardon,"  said 
Richard. 

"How  now!  We  are  not  starting,"  said  Mr. 
Russell,  discomfited.  "  There  she  is  now,"  he  beck- 
oned frantically. 

"  Oh,  nev^er  mind,  we  shall  have  to  go  slower 
than  the  carriage,  the  wagon  jolts  so,  sha'n't  we, 
Mr.  Button  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Barry,  complacently.  "  The 
carriage  has  started,  and  the  buggy  is  coming  for 
them." 

Mr.  Russell  made  one  more  attempt  to  stem  the 
tide  against  him.  "  But  Miss  Van  Ostade  may  not 
like  it.     I  think  she  is  beckoning  us  to  wait." 

**  No,  she  is  signalling  us  to  go  on,"  said  Craig, 
and  they  went.  As  they  drove  out  of  one  gate, 
Mr.  Gebb's  small  darky  boy  entered  by  the  other, 
driving  a  little  gray  mare  hitched  to  a  buckboard. 

**  Is  that  the  buggy?  "  said  Portia,  dismayed. 

"  Yas  'm,"  said  the  impassive  youngster. 

"  I  ought  to  have  seen  it  before  I  engaged  it. 
Why  did  they  start  in  such  a  hurry?  There  would 
have  beefi  room  for  us  in  the  wagon.  This  was 
only  intended  as  a  contingency,  so  to  speak." 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter  with  it?  "  said  Marshall, 
walking  around  the  rude  outfit,  and  pulling  a  little 
here  and  there  at  the  straps  of  the  old  harness. 
"  It's  a  mighty  good  sort  of  a  contingency,  that's 
what  I  think.     Shall  we  start?" 

*'  I  suppose  we  must,  if  we  make  this  little  gray 
thing  keep  up  with  that  team  of  Mr.  Button's." 

He  stepped  back  and  took  her  wraps,  and  seeing 
a  thick  traveller's  rug  on  the  piazza,  he  arranged  it 


1 54    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

over  her  side  of  the  seat  for  her  comfort.  She 
watched    him    doubtfully. 

''  That  is  Mr.  Russell's.  He  must  have  intended 
taking  it.  Perhaps  that  is  what  they  were  stopping 
at  the  gate  for." 

"  We  will  take  it  to  him,  then,"  said  John,  laugh- 
ing. Portia  sprang  lightly  in,  and  he  followed,  with 
a  delight  in  the  situation  not  easily  disguised. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE    GIRL   AT    THE    GERMAN    BRIDGE 

"  ^^"^  OOD-BYE,  Mrs.  Keller.     Take  good  care  of 


G 


mamma,"  called  Portia,  as  they  drove  off, 
tilting  up  and  down  with  the  easy  sway  of  the  long 
buckboard  as  it  passed  over  uneven  places  in  the 
road.  "  This  is  fun.  It  makes  me  think  of  the  days 
when  I  played  see-sav/." 

**  I  call  it  an  improvement  on  the  old  plan ;  the 
board  being  hung  at  both  ends  instead  of  in  the 
middle,  we  can  both  tilt  up  and  down  in  the  centre. 
It 's  more  sociable." 

'*  Oh,  dear  !  The  wagon  is  so  far  ahead  it  will  be 
out    of   sight.     Do  you    know    the   way?    I   don't." 

*'  I  do,  unless  the  hills  have  changed  places  since 
I  was  a  boy." 

Portia  drew  in  a  deep  breath  and  looked  quietly 
about  her.  She  loved  the  mountain  air,  sweet  with 
the  scent  of  growing  things,  and  the  glowing  colors 
in  the  sky,  where  the  sun  seemed  sinking  into  a 
seething  furnace.  "  Without  coming  to  the  moun- 
tains and  living  among  them,  one  never  could  know 
how  beautiful  the  world  is,"  she    said. 

*'  I  have  been  where  the  mountains  are  much 
grander,  in  Switzerland,  and  among  the  Rockies ; 
but  I  must  say  these  North  Carolina  hills  have  a 
fascination  peculiarly  their   own." 

They  were  both  silent  a  few  minutes,  —  she  calmly 
happy  in  these  moments  of  relief  from  care,  and  he 


1 56    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

intoxicated  with  a  delight  he  dared  not  show.  At 
last  he  broke  in  upon  her  quiet  reflection. 

**  It  is  the  strangest  thing  —  I  always  think  of 
some  one  I  saw  only  for  a  moment  over  in  Germany, 
when  I  look  at  you,  —  it  seems  as  if  you  must  be 
she." 

"That  is  odd.     Was  she  a  German?" 

**  I  don't  know." 

**  If  you  had  said  in  Holland  I  would  think  you 
might  have  seen  a  descendant  of  some  possible 
Dutch    ancestor    of  mine." 

"  No,  it  was  in  Germany  near  the  Danish  bound- 
ary. I  saw  her  only  a  moment,  and  never  since, 
but  I  always  connect  you  with  the  incident." 

**  Oh !  I  wonder  —  "  she  leaned  forward  and 
looked  at  him  with  a  new  light  in  her  eyes.  "  Please 
go  on." 

'*  What  do  you  wonder?     Tell  me  that  first." 

*'  No,  I  interrupted  you,  and  I  can't  wait.  Was 
it  in  Schleswig?  " 

''Were  you  ever  there?"  She  laughed.  "See 
here !  I  want  to  know  if  you  ever  saw  me 
before." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  I  have  n't  even  a  vague  im- 
pression that  I  ever  saw  you  before  or  any  one  like 
you,  until  that  day  in  old  Clarissa's  cabin." 

"  But  you  have  been  abroad?  " 

"  Yes,  nearly  two  years.  But  please  tell  me  what 
you  were  going  to." 

"  But  look  at  me  squarely  first  and  tell  me  if 
you    ever  saw   me   before." 

"  I  have  looked  at  you  squarely,  and  now  I  tell 
you  roundly  I  will  not  answer  any  more  questions 


The  Girl  at  the  German  Bridge     157 

until  you  go  on  with  what  you  were  going  to  say 
when  I  interrupted  you." 

They  turned  a  curve  and  came  in  sight  of  the 
wagon  rattHng  merrily  on  before.  They  were 
greeted  by  a  waving  of  handkerchiefs,  and  Portia 
answered  with   a   gay  call. 

*'  Let  us  keep  this  far  behind  them,"  said  John. 
"  It  will  be  pleasanter." 

*'  I  would  rather.  Sometimes  I  long  to  be  alone. 
To-night  I  was  tired,  and  really  felt  glad  they 
started    on    as    they   did." 

"  And  you  were  not  allowed  the  privilege  of 
being  alone,  after  all.  What  a  pity  I  could  not 
have    known !  " 

"  You  know  very  well  I  did  n't  mean  that,  but  if 
you  won't  go  on  and  tell  me  about  the  girl  you  saw 
in  Germany,  I  will  say  I  did." 

"  No,  please.  I  will  tell  you  anything  rather, 
only  I  don't  believe  you  would  say  it  even  if  you 
thought  it." 

**  Perhaps  not,  but  this  I  will  say,  you  are  cruel 
to  keep  me  in  suspense." 

"  After  all,  there  is  little  to  tell.  I  was  sketching 
a  quaint  old  bridge,  and  bit  of  river  and  rock,  when 
a  party  came  toward  me  from  the  other  side,  riding 
rapidly,  and  the  foremost  had  passed  on,  when  the 
horse  of  one  of  the  ladies  began  plunging  and  rear- 
ing. He  took  fright  at  my  umbrella  and  canvas,  or 
possibly  at  me.  I  thought  for  an  instant  they  would 
both  go  over  the  side  of  the  bridge,  but  in  a  moment 
she  had  regained  the  mastery  and  they  dashed  on. 
That  is  all,  but  this  is  the  strange  part.  When  I  first 
saw  you,  that  whole  scene  at  the   bridge  away  off 


158    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

there  In  Germany  flashed  into  my  mind,  even  the 
color  of  her  dress  and  her  horse,  and  the  appear- 
ance of  the  two  gentlemen  of  the  party  who  seemed 
to  be  her  particular  escort,  all  came  back  to  me  as 
if  it  had  occurred  yesterday;  yet  they  came  and 
were  gone  before  I  could  collect  my  traps  and  my 
senses." 

"Why,  this  is  like  a  bit  from  a  novel.  I  was 
almost  sure  you  were  going  to  tell  that  very  incident. 
I  have  always  wondered  who  the  artist  was.  You 
were  so  quick  to  get  your  things  out  of  the  way, 
and  I  never  should  have  gotten  control  of  that  horse 
if  you  had  not  caught  his  bridle  and  led  him  by. 
After  the  excitement  was  over  I  remember  feeling 
that  I  had  not  even  thanked  you." 

*'I  don't  remember  touching  the  bridle.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  your  young  man  was  not  I,  nor  my  young 
lady  you." 

''  What  was  the  color  of  her  habit?  " 

"  Green." 

*'  So  was  mine,  and  what  had  she  on  her  head?" 

*'  Nothing.  I  always  wondered  why  she  rode 
bareheaded." 

"  Then  surely  it  was  I.  My  horse  was  badly 
trained  and  very  nerv^ous.  He  had  acted  badly  once 
before,  and  my  hat,  one  of  these  horrid  high  ones,  fell 
off,  and  he  put  his  foot  through  it  and  wore  it  for  an 
anklet  until  I  could  stop  him.  I  wonder  my  neck 
was  not  broken." 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  "  said  John  to  himself. 

*'  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  not  told  you  how  I  came  to  be 
riding  bareheaded  in  a  pleasure  party.  I  should 
have  kept  that  for  a  mystery." 


The  Girl  at  the  German  Bridge    159 

"  It  Is  a  mystery  without  that.  To  meet  as  we  did 
in  that  instant,  and  then  here,  in  this  out-of-the-way 
place  again,  coUided  as  it  were,  over  poor  old 
Mammy  Cl'issy,  it  would  seem  as  if  we  were  fated 
to  —  " 

"Become  acquainted?  "  she  asked,  forestalling  a 
more  serious  conclusion. 

"  Yes,  become  acquainted." 

'*  Maybe,  but  I  am  not  the  least  bit  of  a  fatalist." 

"  Decreed  by  Providence,  then?" 

"  I  think  things  just  happen  sometimes.  I  don't 
believe  in  attributing  every  strange  thing  to  occult 
influence,  like  saying  it  is  fate,  or  Providence,  you 
know,  that  brings  about  such  odd  meetings  as  ours. 
Do  you?" 

"  Some  say  there  is  no  such  thing  as  chance." 

"  I  know,  but  perhaps  some  are  mistaken,"  she 
said  with  a  merry  glance  in  his  face. 

"  I  hope  not,"  he  said  gravely. 

*'  Do  you  think  Providence  plans  every  single 
thing  that  takes  place  in  this  world  ?  " 

He  laughed.  *'  '  There  's  a  divinity  that  shapes 
our  ends,  rough-hew  them  how  we  will.'  Aunt 
Mary  taught  me  to  believe  that." 

"  Oh,  dear !  How  little  we  know  of  what  our 
futures  are  to  bring !  Mine  is  so  different  from  — 
I  presume  our  plans  are  nothing  but  dreams,  after 
all." 

"  Perhaps  you  formed  your  plans  too  early  in  life 
to  have  them  definite."  She  was  silent,  and  he 
wondered  what  they  might  have  been. 

They  drove  dow^n  a  sharp  declivity,  and  through 
a  small  stream  that  made  a  pleasant  sound  in  their 


i6o    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

ears.  The  sun  was  set,  and  the  air  had  grown  cooler. 
He  unfolded  her  wrap  and  placed  it  about  her  with 
a  gentle  thoughtfulness  that  pleased  her.  They 
heard  the  wagon  in  the  distance  rumbling;  on. 

"  Shall  we  hurry  a  little?  "  he  asked. 

*'  If  we  are  nearly  there,  no.  If  not,  I  suppose  we 
must." 

'*  I  '11  let  the  little  nag  take  her  time,  then." 

**  I  only  meant  —  it 's  pleasanter  here  than  crowded 
in  that  little  cabin  with  a  lot  of  negroes.  Do  those 
who  have  been  born  and  brought  up  among  them 
feel  that  repugnance  to  them?  Is  it  a  natural  feel- 
ing? I  can  be  kind  to  them  and  like  them  well 
enough,  and  I  do  truly  want  to  see  them  improve 
and  become  good  educated  citizens,  and  all  that,  and 
I  always  feel  like  taking  their  part,  but  I  can't  bear 
to  have  them  touch  me,  poor  souls." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  It's  a  matter  of  custom,  I 
guess.  I  never  felt  any  of  it.  Take  old  Clarissa 
now.  I  used  to  cuddle  up  in  her  arms  and  go  to 
sleep,  I  remember  it  well ;  and  as  for  the  piccanin- 
nies, they  were  regular  little  playmates,  and  no  end 
of  fun." 

"  How  strange  !  How  could  you  ? "  Portia 
shuddered. 

"You  Northern  people  never  really  did  the  South- 
erners justice  in  a  way.  When  it  comes  right  down 
to  plain  facts,  we  like  the  colored  people  better  than 
you  do.     Why,  I  actually  loved  that  old  mammy." 

**  And  there  I  could  n't  bear  to  touch  her,"  said 
Portia,  humbly.  *'  I  fear  you  are  right.  Of  course, 
we  thought  slavery  horrible,  but  at  heart  we  were  n't 
much  kinder,  only  a  little  more  just,  don't  you  think? 


The  Girl  at  the  German  Bridge    i6i 

I  'm  not  used  to  them  yet.  There  's  Lucyleese,  the 
maid  who  brought  out  the  cushions,  almost  as  white 
as  I  am,  she  wanted  to  dress  my  hair  the  other  day, 
when  I  was  tired,  and  I  could  not  let  her.  I  am  sure 
for  myself  it  is  innate  repugnance.  It  can't  be  educa- 
tion, because  I  have  tried  to  overcome  it,  and  all  my 
education  has  been  against  allowing  such  a  feeling." 

*'  Why  should  you  try  to  overcome  it  ?  " 

"  Because  I  think  it  wrong." 

"  Please  explain.  You  are  worlds  higher  up  in 
the  scale  of  creation,  why  should  you  try  to  place 
them  on  a  level  with  yourself  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  if  our  standards  were  other  than  human 
ones,  some  of  the  blackest  of  these  might  rank  much 
higher  than  I." 

Marshall  laughed,  and  leaning  forward,  stole  a 
quick  glance  at  her  face  as  he  touched  the  horse 
with  the  whip.  "You  have  n't  told  me  yet  why  you 
fight  against  your  own  nature,"  he  said.  "  I  recog- 
nize a  difference,  but  I  accept  it.  I  no  more  try  to 
look  upon  them  as  other  than  they  are  than  I  would 
imbue  this  horse  with  my  attributes,  and  try  to  con- 
verse with  him.  To  me  a  horse  is  a  horse,  and  a 
negro  is  a  negro,  and  not  a  white  man." 

She  turned  on  him  a  look  of  horror.  "  Why, 
Mr.  Marshall,  you  believe  them  human  beings  with 
souls  like  ours,  do  you  not,  undying  ?" 

"  Certainly ;   but  are  all  souls  the   same  kind  or 

quality?     They   are    black    human  beings;    we  are 

white    ones.       There    are    fundamental    differences. 

Can  you   expect  to    overcome    a  repugnance    that 

the    finer,   more  sensitive  nature    must  feel  toward 

a  coarser  one  ?  " 
II 


1 62    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Portia  looked  away,  speaking  slowly.  ''  What 
you  say  seems  true,  but  it  does  not  make  me  feel 
right.  You  see,  I  feel,  after  all,  that  only  evil 
should  excite  repugnance  in  one  human  being 
toward  another,  not  mere  differences  in  color.  The 
reason  should  be  more  than  skin  deep,  —  should  lie 
in  the  heart."  Marshall  did  not  answer  imme- 
diately, and  she  resumed :  "  For  instance,  old 
Clarissa,  just  before  you  came  in,  was  showing  me 
trinkets  she  had  kept  with  such  care  because  you 
had  given  them  to  her,  and  telling  me  about  her 
'Young  Mars'r;'  and  when  you  entered  at  that 
moment,  how  her  old  face  lighted  up  !  Can  you 
ever  forget  that  expression?  Of  what  quality  is  her 
soul,  do  you  think?  Her  look  at  you  condemned 
me.     It  was  heavenly." 

"  Do  you  expect  me  to  solve  the  problem  by 
answering  all  those  questions?  "  said  John,  laughing. 
**  I  'm  afraid  we  are  getting  into  deep  waters." 

*'What  shall  we  do,  sink  or  swim?"  she  asked 
with  a  responsive  laugh. 

"Why,  swim,  of  course.     We  always  do." 

They  relapsed  into  silence,  each  thinking  his  own 
thoughts.  John  vaguely  wondered  who  were  her 
companions  when  he  saw  her  first.  Had  he  set  her 
thinking  of  some  love  affair?  If  she  would  only 
speak,  and  give  him  a  clew  to  her  thoughts,  —  but 
no,  when  she  did  speak  it  was  only  of  the  present. 

"  How  dark  it  is  cfrowincr !  How  wild  it  is  here  ! 
Are  these  the  same  roads  you  used  to  ride  over 
when  you  were  a  boy?" 

"  The  very  same,  but  they  were  in  better  repair 
then." 


The  Girl  at  the  German  Bridge     163 

"  People  seem  to  have  lost  heart  here.  They  all 
seem  so  dispirited." 

"  No  wonder !  VVe  were  so  badly  used  by  you 
Northerners  a  few  years  ago." 

''  You  say  we.  You  spent  over  half  your  life  in 
the  North  with  us.  Do  you  count  yourself  one  of 
them?" 

"  Certainly  I  do.  My  father  lost  his  life  in  the 
Southern  army ;  how  could  I  help  it?  "  He  straight- 
ened himself,  lifting  his  head  proudly.  In  the 
gathering  dusk  she  ventured  to  look  more  intently 
at  him,  and  thought  him  handsome  at  that  moment. 

"  Do  you  wonder  I  fear  your  mother's  coming 
when  I  see  how  deeply  you  feel  about  the  past?  " 

*'  Ah,  but  it  is  past,"  he  answered  with  a  quick 
smile.  *'  The  old  animosities  are  dead  and  should 
be  buried  along  with  the  brave  fellows  who  fought 
so  desperately  on  both  sides.  At  least,  we  of  the 
younger  generation,  who  have  never  fought,  should 
not  revive  them." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right.  Yet  ever  since  I  have  lived 
here  I  have  felt  the  past  hanging  over  me  like  a 
cloud.  I  have  been  happy,  but  it  seems  to  confront 
me  everywhere  I  turn." 

"  I  see  it  also,  but  clouds  are  never  stable.  It  is 
only  the  shadow  of  the  old  troubles,  —  the  flying 
edge  of  the  storm  that  has  passed  over.  Coming 
from  the  North,  where  all  is  thrift  and  enterprise, 
you  may  feel  the  depressed  state  of  affairs  more 
than  they  do." 

**  Now  you  say  they,  not  we.  I  guess  when  it 
comes  to  the  present,  you  do  not  feel  so  much  one 
of  them,  after  all." 


1 64   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  In  sympathy  I  am,  in  feeling  not.  They  need 
stirring  up  down  here." 

"They  need  something  to  look  forward  to. 
There  is  nothing  so  utterly  hopeless  as  hopeless- 
ness. There  is  a  sweet  old  blind  lady  I  have  met. 
She  seems  really  to  enjoy  life  more  than  her 
daughter,  for  she  has  all  the  past  in  which  she  lives, 
while  the  daughter  has  more  of  the  hopeless  future 
before  her  with  its  loneliness." 

"  I  am  there  now.  They  were  my  father's  dearest 
friends.  Will  you  go  with  me  sometime  and  sing 
for  Mrs.  Wells?  Everything  done  for  the  mother 
gives  Miss  Katherine  pleasure.  They  are  really 
very  charming."  ^ 

"  I  would  love  to  do  it."  The  deep  bay  of 
a  hound  near  by  startled  her.  '*  I  wish  men 
would  n't  hunt  with  hounds.  It  is  cruel,"  she  said 
impetuously. 

"  This  is  some  hound  hunting  on  his  own  account, 
I  guess." 

*'  What  a  weird  place  we  have  come  to  !  There, 
where  the  shadows  are  black  among  the  under- 
growth, I  seem  to  see  figures  moving.  See,  is  that 
a  man?" 

"Some  burnt  stump,  no  doubt.  It  is  a  weird 
place.  Are  you  timid?  There  is  nothing  to  fear. 
I  have  been  here  hundreds  of  times." 

"  I  'm  not  afraid.  I  am  enjoying  the  strangeness 
of  it  all.  I  love  to  be  in  wild  places  and  imagine 
dreadful  things." 

"  Imagine  your  dreadful  things  quickly,  then,  while 
the  opportunity  lasts.  We  are  almost  there."  She 
laughed  merrily.     "  How  can  3^ou,  and  laugh  like 


The  Girl  at  the  German  Bridge    165 

that?  Tell  me  the  horrible  things  you  are  imagining, 
so  I  may  laugh  too." 

''  Where  does  this  interminable  road  end?  " 

"  Does  it  seem  so  long?  You  are  cruel.  It  is 
very  short.  It  cuts  across  the  gorge  here,  and  there 
is  a  horse  trail  leading  to  the  cabin  which  is  more 
interesting.  It  winds  along  skirting  the  stream.  I 
have  two  saddle-horses  now,  very  good  ones,  I 
think.  Miss  Katherine  and  I  tried  them  this  after- 
noon.    Will  you  ride  with  me  here  sometime?  " 

**  Oh,  Mr.  Marshall,"  she  said,  drawing  in  a  deep 
breath,  "  I  have  been  longing  for  a  ride  over  these 
hills  ever^since  we  have  been  here." 

*'  Then  we  will  go,"  he  said  gladly.  Just  then 
lights  gleamed  out  ahead  of  them,  and  they  came 
upon  the  wagon  and  carriage  in  a  small  level  space, 
where  the  rest  of  the  party  were  waiting  them. 


% 


CHAPTER   XIII 
"WEN    DE    GATES    LIFT    UP    DEIR    HMDS" 


H 


ELLO !  So  you  're  not  lost,"  said  Dick 
Button.  "  We  are  to  leave  the  horses 
here  in  charge  of  Alexander  and  foot  it  a  few  rods 
along  the  mule-path." 

It  had  grown  quite  dark,  but  by  the  aid  of  lan- 
terns they  made  their  way  merrily  along  the  trail. 
A  group  of  negroes  on  ahead  were  singing  as  they 
walked. 

**  Why  do  they  have  their  church  so  far  from  the 
village?"  asked   Mrs.   Barry. 

*'  They  seem  to  have  a  fancy  for  having  them  in 
wild  out-of-the-way  places,"  said  Marshall.  "  You 
may  come  upon  one  anywhere  among  these 
mountains." 

"  A  negro  church,  or  a  moonshine  still,"  said 
Dick. 

The  narrow  path  bordered  steep  declivities  in 
some  places.  The  flickering  light  of  their  lanterns 
made  the  darkness  visible,  and  the  chasms  seen 
more  awful,  lending  a  touch  of  excitement  to 
excursion. 

'*  What  kind  of  a  gathering  is  this  we  are  going 
to?"  said  Mrs.  Percy.  **  I  wish  Mr.  Held  were  with 
us.  Could  an  artist  paint  such  a  weird  effect  as 
this?" 

i66 


tne 


(( 


W'tn  de  Gates  Lift  Up  deir  Haids  "    1 67 

**  They  are  holding  protracted  meetings,  and  hav- 
ing a  revival,"  said  Mr.  Ridgeway.  "  Alexander  has 
been  off  duty  every  evening  this  week  because  of 
them." 

**  I  have  some  twinges  of  conscience,"  said  Miss 
Milbourn. 

''Why  so?"  said  Mr.  Russell. 

"  Going    just    out   of    curiosity.      It   seems    not 

right." 

**  We  're  not  going  like  a  parcel  of  bad  boys," 
said  Craig.     '*  My  conscience  is  all  right." 

**  How  long  since?  "  said  Dick. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Mr.  Betts.  "  Hear  them 
singing?  " 

''  That  sounds  like  a  dirge,"  said  Mrs.  Clare. 

"  They  seem  to  be  marching,"  he  replied. 

The  door  of  the  rude  cabin  stood  open,  and  the 
light  streamed  in  long  rays  out  into  the  darkness. 
Within,  black .  figures  could  be  seen,  their  bodies 
swaying,  and  their  feet  and  in  some  instances  their 
hands  also,  keeping  time  to  the  singing  with  a  gen- 
tle patter.  A  few  negroes  hung  around  outside  the 
door,  and  others  were  still  coming  along  the  trail. 
The  singing  ceased,  and  the  voice  of  an  old  man  was 
heard  in  prayer.  The  quavering  tones  rose  and  fell 
with  a  monotonous  insistence  that  seemed  to  blend 
0th  the  sounds  of  the  waterfall  and  the  wind  among 
the  tree-tops.  The  cabin,  the  same  in  which  the 
political  meeting  had  been  held,  was  lighted  by  tal- 
low candles  stuck  in  rude  improvised  candle-sticks,  — 
pieces  of  wood  with  holes  bored  in  them,  in  which  the 
candles  were  put,  —  thrust  here  and  there  between 
the  chinks  of  the  loes.     The  visitors  waited  without 


1 68   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

until  the  prayer  ceased.  Now  and  then  would  be 
heard  a  groan  or  a  cry,  "  Amen,  bress  de  Lawd." 
These  sounds  grew  more  frequent  as  the  prayer 
progressed. 

John  stood  near  Portia.  "  I  presume  you  have 
attended  these  meetings  often,"  she  said.  "  I  never 
did  before." 

"  Indeed,  yes.  A  negro  revival  was  a  regular 
thing.  The  masters  encouraged  them.  They  con- 
sidered a  nigger  worth  more  who  had  experienced 
religion." 

*'  How  horrible  !  "  she  said  under  her  breath. 

Marshall,  bending  toward  her,  caught  the  words. 
**  Yes,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  see  it  now ;  I 
didn't  then." 

Again  the  bay  of  a  hound  awoke  the  echoes,  start- 
ling Portia  as  before.  "  What  a  hideous  sound  !  " 
she  said. 

"  I  have  heard  the  blood-hounds  bay  in  the  night 
when  they  were  tracking  some  runaway  nigger,  the 
most  unearthly  noise  you  could  imagine.  This 
sounds  as  if  it  might  be  one  of  their  descendants." 

"  Oh,  don't  let  us  think  of  those  horrible  things 
here    in   this  wonderful,  beautiful   spot.       I  wish  I 
may  never  hear  a  hound  bay  again.     I  shall  always  • 
think  of  what  you  have  just  said." 

"  I  thought  you  liked  to  think  of  dreadful  things 
in  these  wild  places." 

"  Oh,  not  those  that  have  really  happened." 

The  moon,  creeping  up  over  the  mountain  top, 
looked  like  a  rim  of  fire.  The  prayer  ceased,  and 
they  entered,  seating  themselves  on  the  rough 
benches   near    the   door,   which   were   vacated    for 


"  Wen  de  Gates  Lift  Up  deir  Haids  "    1 69 

them  with  prompt  courtesy.  Portia  was  glad  they 
did  not  have  to  go  farther  into  the  close,  dimly 
lighted  room.  Negroes  of  all  ages  filled  the  cabin 
in  curious  variety  of  motley  attire.  Josephus'  rich 
tones  rolled  out  in  starting  the  next  hymn,  followed 
by  Gabriella's  high  treble,  while  every  voice  sounded 
strong  in  the  chorus. 

"  Oh,  frien's,  don'  yo'  b'leeb  me  ? 
Oh,  frien's,  don'  yo'  b'leeb  me  ? 
Oh,  frien's,  don'  yo'  b'leeb  me .'' 

Come  hyar  what  Jesus  say. 

"  We  's  gvvine  tu  hab  a  hyarin', 
We  '.s  gwine  tu  hab  a  hyarin'. 
We  's  gwine  tu  hab  a  hyarin'. 

At  de  awful  jedgemen'  day." 

The  service,  a  mixture  of  praying,  exhorting,  and 
singing,  grew  more  fervid,  and  the  ejaculations 
louder  and  more  frequent,  as  the  moments  passed, 
until  it  became  almost  impossible  to  make  out  what 
was  being  said.  The  leader  was  one  adored  by 
the  colored  people,  and  a  general  favorite  among 
the  whites.  He  never  talked  politics,  but  confined 
himself  to  his  own  simple  interpretation  of  the 
Scriptures,  travelling  wherever  he  felt  the  spirit 
move,  to  preach  and  hold  protracted  meetings. 
A  picturesque  figure  he  was,  tall  and  spare,  with 
intensely  black  skin,  which  looked  the  more  dense 
owing  to  his  heavy  head  of  snow-white  wool.  In 
the  dim  obscurity  of  the  room  he  appeared  posi- 
tively uncanny.  Now  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion 
he  rose,  and  there  was  instant  silence.  He  an- 
nounced that  a  contribution  would  be  taken  up. 


170  When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

A  hymn  was  sung  in  rhythmic  chant,  while  the 
congregation,  by  twos  and  threes,  walked  forward, 
all  singing  together,  passed  in  front  of  the  preacher, 
and  laid  their  money  on  the  table,  passing  around 
it  and  back  to  their  seats  in  time  to  the  music,  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  avoid  moving  in  each  other's 
way.  In  the  uncertain  light,  the  grotesque  proces- 
sion seemed  to  be  performing  some  heathen  rite,  or 
witch  dance.  This  ceremony  over,  two  men  passed 
their  hats,  giving  their  visitors  a  chance  to  be 
benevolent. 

Then  old  Pauldo,  the  preacher,  holding  his 
worn  Bible  in  his  hand,  whole  chapters  of  which 
he  could  repeat  by  rote,  although  he  could  nei- 
ther read  nor  write,  gave  out  his  text:  **  Lift  up 
your  heads,  O  ye  gates ;  even  lift  them  up,  ye  ever- 
lasting doors ;  and  the  King  of  glory  shall  come 
in ;  "  and  proceeded  to  detail  the  glories  of  the  com- 
ing of  the  Lord.     This  was  his  favorite  theme. 

"  Oh,  bredren,  hoi'  up  yo'  han's  in  pra'r,  fo'  de 
King  ob  g'ory  baoun'  tu  come.  He  may  come  in 
de  lightnin'  an*  de  sto'm-claoud,  —  he  may  come  in 
de  evenin'  w'en  de  sun  go  daoun  yandah  'hine  de 
maount'n, — he  may  come  in  de  mawnin*  w'en  de 
cock  crow,  — yo'  kyan'  rightly  tell  w'en  he  gwine 
sen'  de  angel  Gabr'el  blow  de  ho'n,  but  w'en  de 
Lawd  come,  de  glory  gwine  come  tu.  De  glory 
gwine  come  tu,  bredren,  an'  we-all  wha'  has  kep'  de 
comman's  o'  de  Lawd  hyahin  spaounded  an' 
splained,  wha  I  done  preachify  tu  yo'  all  dese  y'ars, 
is  gwine  be  tuk  cl'ar  up  tu  de  glory.  We  's  gwine 
walk  de  streets  ob  gol'."  ("  Ahmen,  bress  de 
Lawd.")      **  We-all 's   gwine   be  playin'  on  de    gol' 


I 


"  Wen  de  Gates  Lift  Up  deir  Haids  "    171 

ha'ps,  'n'  w'ar'n'  de  gol'  crowns  'n'  de  white  clo'es 
wha'  shine  hke  de  moon  yandah  wid  de  gre't  shinin' 
Hght  f'om  de  t'ron'  o'  de  Lamb. 

**  O  bredren,  what  glory  '11  be  dar  w'en  de  gates 
lif  up  deir  haids,  'n'  de  Lawd  come  through,  like  de 
shinin'  sun,  wid  de  angels  follerin'  a'ter  a-walkin'  on 
de  claouds,  an'  wavin'  deir  palms,  an'  swinging  deir 
shinin'  gyarments,  an'  singin',  *  Glory  Hallelujah  fo' 
de  Lawd  come  daoun.'  O  bredren,  we-all  's  gwine 
be  dar  tu  jine  in  de  song.  Oh,  de  glad  h'ahts  an'  de 
free  ban's  an'  de  white  skins,  like  de  white  angels  in 
heaben." 

**  We-all's  gwine  be  dar,  Brudder  Pauldo,"  cried  a 
withered  old  soul,  swaying  back  and  forth,  with  the 
tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Oh,  yas,  yas,  we  '11  be  dar.     Glory  !   Glory  !  " 

**  De  debble  gwine  be  knock  daoun,  an'  chain'  on 
de  bottom  o'  de  flo'less  pit." 

"Whar'U  be  de  tears  den,  my  bredren  'n'  my 
sistahs?  Oh,  dey'U  be  wipe'  away.  Whar '11  be  de 
achin'  feet  an'  de  heaby  h'ahts?  Oh,  dey '11  be  light 
like  de  wing  ob  de  bird,  like  de  bol'  ob  de  cotton 
w'en  de  pickin'  time  come."  New  shouts  and  cries 
of  "  Glory"  burst  forth.  ''  Hyah  what  I  tells  yo'," 
he  said,  and  all  was  still  again. 

**  All  yo'-uns  wha'  nebber  war  convarted,  git  daoun 
on  yo*  knees  an'  call  on  de  Sperit  fo'  tu  hyar  de 
pra'rs  o'  de  righteous.  Ben'  de  knee,  an'  bow  de 
haid.  Kyan'  yo'  gib  yo'se'fs  up  tu  pra'r?  De 
bressed  Jesus  done  pray  tu  de  Fadah;  I  done  seed 
'im.  Hyar  wha'  I  tells  yo',"  he  said  again  as  the 
responses  grew  fervent.  He  was  going  to  tell  his 
vision,  he   always  told   his   vision,  and   his   hearers 


1 72   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

always  listened  with  breathless  attention,  like  the 
children   they  were,  to  the  oft-told  tale. 

**  I  mine  de  time  w'en  I  wan'  mo'  'n  a  lad  like 
dis  'n'  peekin'  in  de  windah  yandah  "  (the  faces  in- 
stantly left  the  window  and  appeared  at  the  door). 
"  My  mars'r  owned  a  lime  kiln  an'  I  war  'bleeged  tu 
mine  de  kiln  all  night,  —  'case  yo'  kyan'  'low  de  fiah 
bu'n  low  in  de  kiln  'daout  yo'  spile  de  lime,  suah, — 
I  mine  de  niggahs  been  hol'n'  pertraked  meet'n's  like 
we-all  been  horn'  heah,  an'  dar  come  'long  mighty 
pow'ful  preacher  f'om  Cha'leston  wha'  spaoun'  de 
scripter  an'  tell  we-all  a  heap  'baouts  de  day  ob 
wrath  an'  de  day  ob  glory ;  'baouts  de  fiahs  ob 
hell  like  de  bu'nin'  fiah  in  de  kiln ;  'baouts  de 
streets  ob  gol'  whar  de  saints  walkin'  in  deir  white 
robes,  playin'  on  deir  ha'ps  o'  gol'  an'  singin'  in 
de  New  Jerusalem,  an'  I  hyar  all  he  a-talkin'  an' 
de  words  he  done  spoke  wid  de  tongue  ob  flame, 
fall  on  my  bad,  ha'd  h'aht  like  de  spa'ks  ob  libin' 
fiah  fall  on  de  col'  ha'd  stone  in  de  lime  kiln, 
w'en  we  sta'ts  up  de  heat.  My  bredren,  I  know'd 
de  Lawd  callin'  me.  I  done  wait  all  day  fo'  de 
fiah  ob  de  preachah's  wo'ds  tu  bu'n  dat  ar  bad 
ha'dness  aout'n  my  h'a't,  an'  I  wait  all  night  sitt'n' 
dar  by  de  kiln,  an'  I  feel  de  ol'  h'a't  in  me  still  hke 
de    col'   ha'd  stone. 

*'  Nex'  day  mars'r  le'  me  off  once  mo'  an'  I  go  'g'in 
tu  hyah  de  preachah  an'  dar  he  tell  haow  de  Lawd 
done  fas'  in  de  wild'ness.  I  did  n'  know  wha'  no 
wild'ness  war.  My  mars'r  would  n'  le'  me  go  tu  no 
wild'ness,  but  I  'lowed  I  'd  fas'  tu,  like  de  Lawd  done 
fas'  an'  I  'lowed  p'raps  de  h'a't  melt  daoun  wid  de 
fas'n  like  gol'  in  de  furnace,  an'  de  debble  leab  go 


*'  Wen  de  Gates  Lift  Up  deir  Haids  "    173 

an'  le'  me  git  cl'ar  fo'  tu  go  tu  glory  an'  be  free  in 
de  New  Jerusalem.  I  did  n'  eat  nuff'n'  dat  day,  an'  all 
dat  night  I  sot  by  de  fiah,  an'  feed  de  fiah  in  de 
kiln,  an'  dar  I  call  on  de  Sperit  tu  set  me  free,  but 
de  debble  hoi'  on  like  deff,  bredren.  De  debble 
nebber  leab  go  w'en  he  gits  a  fa'r  holt.  He  nebber 
leab  go  he's  own  se'f  I  kin  tell  yo'  dat  ar  de  troof. 
An'  dar  I  set  lookin'  in  de  kiln,  an'  de  fiah  bu'nin' 
white  hot,  an'  de  stone  crumblin',  an'  dar  'pears  like 
I  see  —  wha'  yo'  s'posses  I  see?  Bredren,  I  see  de 
Hebrew  chillen  in  deir  shinin'  robes  like  silvah, 
a-walkin'  in  de  fiah,  an'  a-trompin'  daown  de  stone 
like,  an'  a  hol'in'  aout  deir  ban's,  a-movin'  raoun'  like 
dey  steppin'  some  high-toned  dance  in  de  fiah,  an' 
den,  bredren,  I  could  n'  look  no  mo'.  I  jes'  cry  aout 
like  I  see  kingdom  come,  an'  run  daoun  in  de  hollah 
'hine  de  kiln,  an'  dar  I  falls  on  my  knees  an'  call  on 
de  Sperit  like  I  nebber  gwine  draw  breff  no  mo',  an' 
I  feel  de  debble  pullin'  back  an'  I  cry  aout,  '  Naw,  yo' 
don'.  Yo'  gwine  leab  go  dis  time.'  An'  I  call  on  de 
Sperit  'g'in,  an'  dar  all  on  a  suddent  come  a  bright 
light  streamin'  long  fo'  sun-up,  an'  de  light  grow 
brighter  ontwell  I  kiver  up  my  eyes  wid  my  ban's 
like  dis-a-way,  an'  a'ter  a  while  I  look,  an'  I  see,  — 
wha'  yo'  s'posses  I  see?  I  see  a  tall  raoun'  post  of 
shinin'  light,  an'  top  o'  de  post  like  I  see  a  shinin' 
man  leanin'  ovah  de  post  an'  a-lookin'  daoun  like 
dis-a-way,  an'  at  de  foot  o'  de  post,  on  de  groun' 
like,  I  see  'nudder  man  like  de  first,  all  white  shinin' 
like  de  bu'nin'  fiah  in  de  lime  kiln,  an'  de  one  dat 
Stan'  at  de  foot  kep'  a-bowin'  daoun,  an*  a-rosin'  up 
'g'in  an'  a-bowin'  daoun  an'  a-rosin'  up  wid  he's  two 
han's  hoi'  up  like  he  a-prayin'.     I  'clar',  bredren,  I 


1 74   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

look  on  dat  sight  ontvvell  I  fall  daoun  wid  de  glory- 
shinin'  cl'ar  froo  me,  an'  de  debble  leab  go,  an'  I  feel 
my  h'a't  grow  all  light  wid  de  bu'nin'  ob  dat  white 
fiah,  an'  dar  I  nebber  knowed  nuffin'  no  mo'  ontvvell 
I  hyahed  my  mammy  say,  *  Oh,  Pauldo,  is  yo'  daid, 
honey?'  I  tell  yo',  bredren,  hoi'  yo'  ban's  up  in 
pra'r  tu  de  Fadah  like  de  bressed  Son  done  pray.  I 
seed  'im  ;  I  knows.  Dat  ar'  de  bressed  'zample  o'  de 
Saviour  wha'  done  died  fo'  yo'-all, — wha'  done  save 
yo'-all  fom  de  def  an'  de  fiah  seven  times  mo' 
hottah  dan  de  bu'nin'  white  fiah  in  de  lime  kiln." 

During  this  whole  discourse,  the  cries  and  groans 
of  agitated  spirits  constantly  begun  and  suppressed 
caused  a  pervading  feeling  of  excitement,  extend- 
ing its  influence  even  to  the  visitors.  When  the 
preacher  had  nearly  reached  his  close,  a  crouching 
figure  moved  rapidly  across  the  small  moonlit  space 
without,  and  crept  like  a  shadow  in  at  the  door,  un- 
noticed by  any  but  Portia.  To  overcome  the  emo- 
tion which  she  felt  stealing  over  her  as  she  watched 
the  thrilling  gestures  and  earnest  face  of  the  densely 
black  speaker,  she  had  turned  and  was  gazing  into 
the  moonlight  and  stillness  without.  Like  a  shadow 
the  figure  dropped  behind  the  men  and  boys  gathered 
at  the  door,  and  crawling  on  all  fours  stretched  him- 
self like  a  dog  beneath  one  of  the  benches  against 
the  wall,  where  he  lay  concealed  by  the  skirts  of  the 
women  and  the  legs  of  the  men  who  sat  upon  it. 
Portia  could  see  the  whites  of  his  eyes  as  he  peered 
cautiously  out.  The  same  instant  several  hounds 
bayed  at  once  in  the  near  distance,  and  the  cower- 
ing figure  slunk  farther  back  and  was  lost  to  sight- 
Portia   felt   the    cold    chills    creep    over    her.     She 


"  Wen  de  Gates  Lift  Up  deir  Haids  '*    1 75 

clutched  Marshall's  arm,  and  for  a  moment  could 
not  speak. 

Seeing  the  look  on  her  face,  he  took  the  hand 
with  which  she  had  grasped  him.  "What  is  it?" 
lie  whispered. 

''  Take  me  out.     Take  me  away  from  here." 

He  drew  her  hand  through  his  arm,  and  they 
stepped  out  into  the  moonlight.  She  trembled, 
"What  is  it?"  he  said  again,  gently  keeping  his 
strong  hand  over  hers  as  it  rested  on  his  arm. 

"  That  creature,  the  murderer,  the  one  at  the  mill- 
bridge.  I  saw  him.  He  is  in  there.  Oh,  they  are 
after  him." 

"  No,  no.     It  must  be  some — " 

"  It  is.  I  saw  him  creep  in.  See,  there  are  men 
—  there  in  the  shadow  of  the  rocks.  Oh,  come 
away.  No.  Call  grandfather,  —  call  him  out. 
Go  ;  I  will  wait  here."  He  turned  at  her  bidding, 
but  she  held  him  back,  for  two  men  had  stepped 
out  in  the  moonlit  space.  Within  the  cabin  the 
negroes  we  reshouting  and  singing.  John  grasped 
the  situation,  though  he  knew  nothing  of  her  pre- 
vious fright  at  the  bridge. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed ;  they  are  after  that  brute." 
He  drew  her  with  him  back  into  the  cabin,  and 
spoke  a  few  hurried  words  to  their  companions.  At 
the  same  instant  a  low,  long-bodied  hound,  a  de- 
scendant of  the  old  Southern  breed,  rushed  in  at  the 
door,  and  with  furious  yelps  began  tearing  at  the 
legs  of  the  poor  creature  under  the  bench.  Men 
shouted,  women  screamed,  and  the  wildest  confusion 
reigned.  Some,  supposing  Satan  was  turned  loose 
when  they  saw  Pete  crawl  out,  desperately  fighting 


176    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

the  dog,  fainted  where  they  sat,  or  leaped  up  crying, 
**  O  Lawd,  tu'n  'im  out.  Chain  'im  in  de  bottom 
ob  de  flo'less  pit." 

The  guests,  being  nearest  the  door,  were  the  first 
to  escape  from  the  cabin.  Josephus,  leaping  over 
benches  and  prostrate  forms,  came  to  the  poor 
wretch's  assistance,  kicking  the  cur  out  of  the  cabin 
and  breaking  its  leg.  It  crawled  off,  dragging  the 
useless  limb,  to  the  group  of  men  gathered  outside. 
The  guests  hurried  away.  Marshall  walked  by 
Portia's  side,  keeping  her  arm  within  his.  As  Jose- 
phus appeared  in  the  doorway,  a  shot  was  fired. 
The  dog  was  quickly  avenged.  Portia  and  John, 
turning,  saw  him  fall  face  downward. 

**  It  is  Josephus,"  she  cried.  "  Oh,  stop  them. 
What  shall  we  do?     Speak  to  them." 

"  It  will  do  no  good.  Come."  He  tried  gently  to 
lead  her  away,  wishing  to  save  her  anguish,  but 
horror  at  seeing  a  man  shot  down  overcame  her 
personal  fear.  The  others,  thinking  the  two  young 
people  were  immediately  in  their  rear,  walked 
rapidly  on  toward  the  wagon. 

**  Ought  we  to  go  back  there  and  help  the  poor 
devils?  "  said  Richard,  mechanically  placing  his  hand 
on  his  hip  pocket,  as  another  shot  rang  in  the  air. 

"  We  can  neither  help  nor  hinder,"  said  Clark, 
carefully  lighting  the  way  for  the  others  to  follow. 

"That's  so,"  muttered  Craig.  "There's  hell  to 
follow  those  shots  if  the  negroes  resist.  The  wisest 
thing  is  to  get  these  ladies  home  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Where  is  Portia?"  said  Mr.  Ridgeway. 

"  She 's  coming,"  said  Miss  Keller,  pantingly, 
stumbling   short-breathed  in  her  tight   tailor-made 


"  Wen  de  Gates  Lift  Up  deir  Haids  "    1 77 

costume,  trying  to  hasten  in  the  uncertain  hght. 
Mr.  Russell  hesitated  and  turned  back.  *'  I  saw  her 
just  this  moment  on  Mr.  Marshall's  arm,"  she  con- 
tinued, and  he  walked  on. 

**  Here,  yu-all  stan'  aroun'  thar  'nd  gyard  th' 
cabin,"  said  Patterson,  levelling  his  weapon  and  firing 
the  second  shot  as  the  white-haired  old  preacher 
appeared  in  the  door,  while  Portia's  pitiful  voice 
of  entreaty  died  on  the  air  unheard.  *'  We'll  shoot 
down  airy  devil  't  tries  tu  run  till  we  git  th'  one 
we  'r'  a'ter."  Josephus  staggered  to  his  feet  as  old 
Uncle  Pauldo  fell  across  the  threshold  with  a  bullet 
through  his  heart. 

Portia  screamed,  and,  springing  forward,  caught 
Patterson's  arm  while  the  weapon  still  smoked  in 
his  hand,  before  Marshall  could  get  his  slower  brain 
ready  for  action. 

**  Oh,  Mr.  Patterson,  don't  do  it  again!  Don't 
shoot  men  down  like  that." 

The  touch  of  her  woman's  hand  softened  his 
chivalrous  Southern  heart.  He  spoke  to  her  as 
tenderly  as  to  a  child.  Flinging  his  pistol  to  one 
of  the  other  men,  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  Jes'  yu 
gyard  th'  door,  will  ye,"  and  led  her  away  from  them. 
**  This  here  looks  hard,  but  it's  jestice,  yu  see.  Miss 
Van  Ostade.  It  has  tu  be  done,  but  hit's  no  place 
fo'  yu  tu  be.     Whar  's  yu'  comp'ny  ?  " 

"  They  're  here.  Oh,  they  are  gone  !  Mr.  Mar- 
shall is  here."  She  looked  about  and  saw  him  lead- 
ing Josephus  away  to  keep  the  poor  fellow  from 
being  shot  at  a  second  time.  She  drew  a  sigh  of 
relief,  but  still  kept  her  trembling  hands  on  Mr. 
Patterson's  arm.  In  the  darkness  she  saw  men 
12 


1 78    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

quietly  gathering  about  the  cabin.  From  within  the 
shrieks  of  the  frightened  women  came  out  to  them, 
pitiful  voices  of  terror. 

''  Oh,  hear  them,  Mr.  Patterson,  —  those  poor 
frightened  creatures.  You  seem  always  so  gentle 
and  kind,  don't  do  it  again.     Hear  them." 

"  I  'm  mighty  cut  up  't  any  lady  should  be  hyar 
tu-night,  'nd  be  skeered  as  yu  air.  Yu  see  yu' 
heart's  tetched,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  It's  no 
mo'  'n  jestice  'nd  se'f-defence."  Marshall  approached 
them.  "  Good-evenin',  John.  Yu  ah  this  young 
lady's  escort,  I  take  it.  Ah  yu  with  us  or  not?" 
The  question  had  a  menace  in  it  which  Marshall 
wisely  ignored.  He  drew  Portia's  hand  through  his 
arm,  speaking  lightly,  — 

"We  came  to-night,  half  in  frolic.  A  negro 
revival  is  a  curious  sight  to  our  Northern  visitors, 
you  know.  What's  all  the  fuss?  What 's  Josephus 
been  doing?  "  > 

"  Hit 's  Pete  Gunn  we  're  a'ter,  'nd  Joe 's  been 
hid'n'  'im,  I  reckon.  We'll  hev  tu  clap  'im  in  irons 
fer  it  tu,  'f  he  don't  git  hung.  When  jestice  has  tu 
be  done,  it 's  mighty  hard  Ijold'n'  the  men  back." 

**  I  don't  believe  Pete  's  there.  I  was  in  the  cabin 
myself  and  didn't  see  him." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  is,"  exclaimed  Portia,  honestly.  '*  I 
saw  him  creep  in.     That  was  what  frightened  me  so." 

"  He  's  thar  all  right,  —  psalm-singin'  devils ; 
they're  hid'n'  'im.  We'd  ought  tu  blow  up  th' 
cabin  'nd  send  'em  all  tu  hell."  Josephus,  making 
his  way  from  tree  to  tree,  was  lost  in  the  darkness  as 
these  few  words  were  spoken.  "  Whar  is  that  dog 
now?"  said  Patterson,  peering  after  him. 


"  Wen  de  Gates  Lift  Up  deir  Haids  *'    1 79 

"  I  '11  take  Miss  Van  Ostade  to  her  party,  and 
come  back  and  hunt  him  up  for  you."  John  felt  it 
wisest  to  placate,  falling  easily  into  Patterson's  own 
vernacular,  for  the  sake  of  the  trembling  girl  at  his 
side.  "  He 's  too  badly  hurt  to  do  any  harm  for 
one  while,  I  reckon." 

Portia  drew  back  and  laid  her  hand  again  on 
Patterson's  arm.  "  Please,  Mr.  Patterson, — you  seem 
able  to  control  all  the  rest,  —  don't  blow  up  the 
cabin.     It  is  murder,  even  if  they  are  black." 

Patterson,  always  tender  and  gentle  to  a  white 
woman,  looked  into  her  pleading  face  upturned  to 
his  in  the  moonlight,  and  felt  himself  swayed  by  the 
quivering  hps  and  trembling  touch. 

"  Young  lady,  I  'm  mighty  cut  up  ovah  this. 
Thar  ain't  wuth  enough  in  all  th'  niggah  trash  on 
earth  tu  make  up  tu  ye  fer  hit.  Mind  ye,  we  won't 
du  no  mo'  killin'  fo'  yu'  sake  than  we  are  mortally 
obleeged  tu.  Ef  't  wan't  foh  yu,  we  might  o'  blowed 
up  the  whole  kit.  Now  yu  go  with  John  'nd  git 
ovah  yu'  skeer,  'nd  we  '11  keep  'em  still  till  yu'  fairly 
out  o'  hyarin'." 

''  Your  heart  is  kind ;  please  let  it  rule,"  she 
pleaded  again.  They  hastened,  stumbling  along 
in  the  dark  ravine.  For  the  second  time  they  had 
been  deserted  by  their  companions.  They  heard 
Patterson  shout  to  the  negroes  penned  in  the  cabin, 
**Yu  haish  thar,  yu  black  catterwaulin*  catamounts, 
we  '11  talk  fa'r  when  yu  pan  out  th'  niggah  we  'r' 
a'ter." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    DRIVE    HOME 

MARSHALL  peered  among  the  shadows  for 
Josephus.  He  had  told  him  to  watch  for 
them  down  the  trail.  He  still  had  Portia's  hand 
grasped  in  his.  "  I  can't  let  go  of  you  on  this  rough 
path,"  he  said.  She  was  glad,  although  she  felt  her 
cheeks  glow  in  the  darkness.  She  was  frightened 
and  weak  after  the  first  excitement,  and  the  touch 
of  his  hand  was  strong  and  warm. 

"  I  wonder  at  their  leaving  us  here  with  no  light," 
she  said. 

"  We  can  see  very  well  where  the  moonlight  falls. 
You  are  too  courageous  to  care.  You  were  the 
only  brave  one  among  us." 

"  I  am  cowardly.  I  am  trembling  yet  for  fear  I 
shall  hear  shots  again.  I  wish  they  would  quiet 
those  horrible  dogs.     Hear  them !  " 

"  Don't  think  of  it,  —  you  have  done  all  you  can." 

They  came  to  a  wide  ledge  of  rock.  "  Stop  here 
and  rest  a  moment.  We  shall  be  missed  soon,  and 
some  one  will  come  back  for  us." 

Far  below  them  sounded  the  water  rushing  among 
the  rocks.  The  moonlight  filtered  over  them  through 
the  leafage.  He  saw  her  face,  white  in  its  silvery 
light.  He  still  held  her  hand,  loath  to  resign  it 
"  Lean  on  my  arm  and  rest  a  moment,"  he  said. 

1 80 


I 


The  Drive  Home  i8i 

"No,  I  am  not  tired,  only  —  oh,  hear  that!  "  A 
shriek  rent  the  air,  followed  by  scream  after  scream, 
the  howling  of  dogs  and  the  hoarse  cries  of  men's 
voices.  Portia  felt  her  knees  giving  way  under  her. 
She  clutched  at  John's  coat,  frantic  with  horror, 
thinking  of  the  negroes  penned  in  the  cabin,  and 
sank  down  on  her  knees  at  his  feet  with  her  hands 
over  her  face.  Marshall  stooped  and  raised  her 
gently  and  tried  to  lead  her  on. 

**  Come,  you  must  not  stay  here  another  moment. 
Don't  take  it  to  heart  so.  It  is  not  as  bad  as  it 
sounds.  They  are  only  frightened.  There  is  no 
shooting." 

"No,  no.  Go  to  them.  Go  back.  You  can  stop 
them." 

"  I  can't  leave  you  here  alone  ;  it  would  be  villany. 
I  am  powerless.     They  don't  care  for  me." 

"  Oh,  they  will.  Try,  try  to  stop  them.  Oh, 
hear !    I  will  go  with  you." 

**  I  will  not  let  you  go  to  be  mixed  up  with  that 
crazy  crowd,"  he  said  firmly.  **  Come."  Could  he 
have  done  so,  he  would  have  carried  her  away 
bodily. 

"  I  am  only  one.  Do  you  think  one  soul  of  more 
worth  than  all  those  helpless  creatures?  I  am  not 
afraid,  I  tell  you.  Go  back  and  try.  I  shall  detest 
you  else."  In  her  frenzy  she  did  not  know  her  own 
vehemence.  She  stamped  her  foot.  Placing  both 
hands  on  his  breast,  she  pushed  him  from  her.  He 
turned  away. 

"  God  forgive  me  if  any  harm  comes  to  you,"  he 
said  in  a  tone  that  reached  her  heart  through  all  her 
excitement  and  brought  her  to  herself  once  more. 


1 8  2    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  What  have  I  done,  what  have  I  done  ?  "  she  said, 
sinking  down  on  her  knees  again  and  trying  to  stop 
her  ears  with  her  fingers.     '*  Everything  is  wrong." 

John  ran  in  the  darkness,  stumbling,  falling,  and 
running  again,  in  his  haste  to  accomplish  his  errand, 
and  return.  At  the  scene  he  found  quiet  restored, 
while  the  men  parleyed  for  the  prisoner.  The  ne- 
groes would  have  willingly  given  him  up,  but  he 
had  escaped  them,  having  crept  up  the  chimney. 
The  screams  had  arisen  from  fright.  The  invaders 
had  piled  brush  about  the  cabin,  and  threatened  to 
burn  it  down  while  they  guarded  the  door  with  their 
rifles  unless  Pete  could  be  produced.  The  dead 
preacher  still  lay  across  the  threshold. 

Marshall  stirred  among  the  men,  and  sought  out 
Patterson,  but  finding  he  had  been  drinking,  realized 
the  futility  of  argument  and  his  own  helplessness, 
and  once  more  hurried  along  the  trail  to  regain 
Portia's  side.  As  he  neared  the  flat  rock  he  saw 
lights  twinkling  among  the  shadows.  She  had  been 
missed  by  the  party,  and  Craig  had  returned  for 
them  with  a  lantern.  John,  hurrying  on,  stumbled 
over  something  across  the  path.  It  was  Josephus, 
lying  faint  from  loss  of  blood.  Marshall  ran  on  for 
the  light,  and  with  Craig's  assistance  they  roused 
him.  Then,  while  Portia  held  the  lantern,  they 
stanched  the  bleeding  and  bound  the  wound,  using 
all  their  handkerchiefs  and  tearing  his  shirt  sleeve 
in  strips  to  bind  them.  The  ball  had  passed  through 
the  fleshy  part  of  his  arm,  and  glancing  had  lodged 
in  his  breast. 

*'  I  wish  I  had  a  drop  of  old  Toplins'  stuff  now," 
said  Craig.     "  Got  any  whiskey,  Joe  ?  " 


The  Drive  Home  183 

"  Naw,  sah,"  he  said  weakly. 

*•  We  can  never  get  him  to  the  wagon  in  this 
state,"  said  John. 

"  Here,"  said  Portia,  diving  her  hand  into  her 
pocket  and  drawing  out  a  dehcate  Httle  fih'gree 
smelUng  bottle.     "  Will  this  be  of  any  service?  " 

'*  Just  the  thing.  Here,  Joe,  take  a  sniff.  That 's 
a  man.     Can  you  stand?  "  said  Craig. 

"  I  reckon,  sah." 

"  Then  we  '11  hurry,"  said  Marshall.  *'  They  may 
be  after  him  if  we  don't  make  haste."  Josephus 
straightened  himself  with  a  quick  start,  and  they 
moved  on. 

"  That  last  remark  seems  to  be  of  more  service 
than  your  smelling  bottle,"  said  Craig.  They  walked 
slowly  and  silently.  Reaching  the  anxious,  waiting 
crowd  at  last,  they  were  greeted  with  excited  excla- 
mations and  questions. 

''  What  was  the  trouble  ?  "  "  What  were  those 
men  after?"  **  Why  didn't  you  come  along  with 
us?  "     "  We  have  had  such  a  fright  about  you  !  " 

"  Portia,"  said  Mrs.  Percy,  "  where  on  earth  were 
you?  We  supposed  you  were  on  ahead,  —  you  were 
the  first  to  leave  the  cabin.  Your  grandfather  has 
been  frantic." 

'*  Why,  I  was  all  right,"  said  Portia,  turning  to 
her  grandfather,  and  anxious  to  avoid  questions. 
"  Mr.  Marshall  was  with  me.  But  now  what  shall 
we  do  with  this  poor  fellow  ?  " 

"  Alexander  might  take  him  home  in  the  car- 
riage," replied  her  grandfather.  "  If  the  ladies 
could  —  " 

**  We  can  ride  in  the  wagon ;  of  course  we  can/' 
cried  they. 


I  84     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  You  would  better  be  a  little  careful  what  you 
do,  or  rather  how  you  do  it,"  said  Mr.  Clark.  "  You 
don't  want  the  whole  community  down  on  you." 

"  Here,"  said  Mr.  Percy,  "  I  can  arrange  that. 
You  who  live  here,  get  yourselves  home.  You  need 
know  nothing  about  it.  Loan  Mr.  Betts  and  me  the 
carriage,  and  Alexander,  and  the  rest  of  you  pile  in 
the  wagon  and  drive  on." 

''  Mr.  Percy  is  right,"  said  Mr.  Betts.  "  I  will  go 
with  him  gladly."  The  rest  of  the  party  hastily 
seated  themselves  in  the  wagon  without  ceremony, 
where  room  was  easily  found  for  one  more. 

"  Mr.  Russell,  we  brought  your  rug,"  said  Portia. 
"  Was  that  what  you  were  beckoning  for  at  the 
gate  ?  " 

"  No,  Miss  Van  Ostade,  it  was  for  you  —  I  —  we  — 
that  is  —  I  wanted  you  to  ride  with  us,  but  somehow 
we  seemed  to  get  started  without  you.  Please  keep 
the  rug  —  and  —  " 

"  Oh,  we  don't  need  it,  thank  you,"  said  Portia, 
and  hastened  to  take  her  place  in  the  buckboard, 
lest  she  be  urged  to  go  with  the  rest.  They  started, 
and  she  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief.  Looking  back 
in  the  darkness,  she  dimly  saw  Josephus  being 
helped  into  the  carriage. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  How  old  Clarissa  will  feel !  "  she 
said. 

"  She  '11  take  on  terribly,  but  she  may  be  thank- 
ful it  was  no  worse.  A  little  more  and  that  ball 
would  have  reached  his  heart."  Portia  shuddered. 
•'  It  was  kind  of  you,  and  courageous  too,  to  ride 
back  with  me."  He  wished  to  change  the  subject, 
and  spoke  the  thought  uppermost  in  his  mind. 


The  Drive  Home  185 

*' Why  so?  Oh,  because  you  thought  me  afraid 
when  we  drove  along  here?  I  was  only  indulging 
my  imagination  then,  but  —  I  do  believe  I  saw 
those  men  prowling  along  in  the  underbrush." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  did  ;  and  very  few  women 
would  be  as  brave."  He  looked  in  her  face.  He 
thought  she  would  not  know  the  look  his  eyes  had 
for  her  in  the  darkness,  but  she  vaguely  felt  it. 

She  drooped  her  head.  "  I  am  not  courageous, 
only  cowardly.  I  should  have  had  to  answer  all 
their  questions,  you  know,  so  I  avoided  them. 
Curiosity  seems  to  me  sometimes  horrible,"  she 
shuddered. 

'*  Of  course  they  will  want  to  know  why  we  stayed 
and  what  happened  when  we  get  home,  but  I  will  tell 
them  all,  and  you  must  go  directly  to  your  room." 

A  little  wave  of  grateful  feeling  swept  through 
her  heart.  Ah,  he  was  making  a  place  for  himself 
there,  surely,  surely,  with  the  delicate  tact  which 
comes  by  nature  to  some  men,  and  which  others 
stumble  through  a  whole  lifetime  without. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  — "  she  began  and  stopped. 

"What  do  you  wish  you  knew?  " 

**  I  do  and  I  don't.  I  am  cowardly.  I  wish  I 
knew  what  is  happening,  yet  I  would  not  dare," 
she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands  as  if  to  keep 
out  the  sight.  "  It  was  awful  to  see  them  shoot  men 
down.  And  that  good  old  preacher,  so  earnest ! 
He  looked  like  a  spirit  with  those  gleaming  eyes, 
I  and  his  white  head,  preaching  there  in  the  dim 
light." 

"  Don't  think  of  it  any  more.  He  died  at  his 
post,  like  a  soldier  on  the  field  of  battle."     She  still 


^ 


I  86    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

kept  her  hands  over  her  face.  '*  Think  of  something 
else,"  he  said  gently.  "  Are  you  aware  what  a 
perfect   night   this    is?" 

**  Yes,  yes,  I  am.  When  the  world  all  around 
them  is  so  beautiful,  how  can  people  be  so  wicked  ! 
It  is  sentimental  bosh  that  the  beauty  of  nature 
has    a   softening   effect." 

"  All  souls  are  not  awakened,  you  know,"  he  was 
glad  to  lead  her  thoughts  away  through  the  channel 
of  argument.     *'  They  are  not  sensitive  to  beauty." 

"  But  Mr,  Patterson  seems  sensitive, —  how  anxious 
he  was  that  I  should  not  suffer,  even  when  he  was 
so  cruel  to  them."     She  shivered. 

**  Where  is  your  shawl?  " 

"  Here  in  my  lap.     I  do  not  need  it." 

"  You  must  let  me  put  it  around  you  nevertheless. 
Don't  you  know  that  people  take  cold  more  easily 
after  excitement  ?  "  He  placed  it  comfortably  over 
her  shoulders,  but  his  hand  shook  a  little  as  he 
gathered  it  together  under  her  sweet  chin.  '*  There  ! 
Now  I  shall  feel  more  comfortable  even  if  you 
don't,"  he  said  with  a  laugh.  And  well  he  might, 
had  he  known  how  surely,  unknown  even  to  herself, 
he  was  folding  himself  in  with  that  fleecy  white  wrap. 

*'  Thank  you.  I  wish  we  were  at  home.  I  wish 
we  had  never  come  out  this  evening.  It  seems  a 
sacrilegious  thing  to  look  back  at  now." 

He  would  try  argument  again.  ''  I  begin  to  think 
you  misunderstand  yourself,"  he  said.  **  Where 
was  all  that  feeling  of  aversion  when  you  were  pity- 
ing them?  Own  up.  Did  n't  you  forget  they  were 
all  negroes,  and  feel  just  the  same  as  if  they  were 
white?" 


The  Drive  Home  187 

**  Oh,  no,  no  !  I  did  n't,  I  did  n't.  I  caught  my- 
self feeling  thankful  that  they  were  not  white  people. 
Oh,  why  do  you  make  me  own  up?  I  did  n't.  Oh,  the 
shame  of  it !  I  prayed  to  be  forgiven,  there  while 
I  waited  for  you  to  come  back,  and  the  next 
moment  I  caught  myself  feeling  the  same  again ; 
and  in  the  cabin,  I  felt  as  if  I  could  not  stay  crowded 
in  with  them.  I  presume  if  I  am  ever  good  enough 
to  go  to  heaven  I  shall  find  them  there,  and  they 
will  forgive  me." 

John  laughed  a  contagious,  irresistible  laugh. 
The  great  rocks  hemming  them  in  on  either  side 
took  it  up  in  merry  echoes.  The  stream  they  were 
fording  seemed  to  repeat  the  sounds ;  and  the 
wagon  rattled  on  before. 

Portia  looked  at  him  gravely.  "  Why  do  you 
laugh? "    she    said. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  replied.  "  Won't  you  laugh 
a  little?  Is  it  so  serious  a  matter  that  you  feel 
yourself  different,  set  apart  from  these  people?  I 
can't  imagine  your  feeling  any  other  way." 

"  Perhaps  I  could  n't,  but  my  white  skin  is  no 
credit  to  me.     I  might  have  been  one  of  them." 

"  But  since   you    were   given  a  white    skin,   you     .^' 
cannot  be  blamed  for  having  white  tastes." 

She  was  silent.  He  wished  she  would  talk  again, 
and  flicked  at  the  gray  horse  impatiently,  making 
him  take  a  livelier  pace.  What  could  he  say  t 
Would  she  ever  talk  with  him  again  with  the  hght- 
heartedness  and  laughter  that  she  did  a  couple  of 
hours  ago?  The  moon,  riding  high  in  its  course, 
hung  over  the  hills,  a  glowing,  molten  ball,  and 
threw  its  rays  in  Portia's  face,  giving  her  spirituelle 


1 8  8    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

countenance  a  white,  evanescent  look,  as  if  she 
were  intangible,  and  would  presently  fade  from  his 
side,  and  become  part  of  the  quivering  light.  He 
felt  a  frantic  desire  to  lay  hands  on  her  and  detain 
her  by  force.  The  tenderness  so  lately  come  into 
his  heart  kept  his  tongue  tied,  lest  he  betray  him- 
self and  say  that  which  would  only  keep  her  from 
him.  He  framed  one  thought  after  another  in  set 
words,  but  they  died  on  his  lips  unuttered.  He, 
the  quick-witted,  the  ready-tongued,  was  silent. 
This  travelled,  educated,  well-poised,  light-hearted 
winner  of  friends  was  floundering  in  a  chaos  of 
unuttered,  unutterable  thoughts  and  feelings,  be- 
cause the  little  god  of  love  had  followed  him  into 
these  wilds  and  shot  an  arrow  into  his  heart  and 
then  laid  his  finger  on  his  lips.  Ah,  well !  Let 
him  triumph  over  our  hero.  Have  not  all  the 
greatest  heroes  of  the  world  bowed  before  him  — 
done  him  homage?  Nay,  more.  Has  he  not  even 
created  heroes  out  of  common  souls,  this  masterful 
little  god? 

Soon  they  were  within  hearing  distance  of  the 
voices  from  the  wagon.  Then  Portia  roused  her- 
self as  from  a  dream  in  which  his  presence  had 
been  forgotten. 

"  Why,  we  must  be  nearly  home." 

"I  think  so,"  he  replied,  checking  the  swinging 
pace  into  which  his  impatience  had  urged  the  little 
gray,  with  a  quick  movement  of  regret. 

Portia  sighed.  "What  can  I  do,  what  shall  I 
do,  to  rid  myself  of  the  remembrance  of  this  even- 
ing?  " 

"  Don't  think  of  it ;  don't.     Why  should  you  ?" 


The  Drive  Home  189 

"  Because  it  is  there,  and  will  stay  by  me  as 
another  awful  scene  has.  Only  that  was  simply 
awful,  —  this   was   wicked." 

John  made  no  reply,  and  she  looked  away  at  the 
great  ball  of  fire  rolling  over  the  mountain's  crest. 
"  Look  at  the  moon.  I  never  saw  it  so  wonderful. 
Now  these  dead  pines  are  making  black  marks  over 
its  face.  It  is  like  this  evening,  —  beautiful,  and 
then   defaced." 

*' Not  forever,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  ".We  shall 
soon  pass  the  pines,  and  then  —  " 

**  I  know  what  you  mean,  —  but  now,  —  at  this 
very  minute,  —  we  cannot  know  what  they  may  be 
doing  back  there." 

**  It  would  do  no  good  if  we  did.  They  have  the 
law  in  their  own  hands  just  now,  and  there  is  a 
measure  of  justice  in  it,  on  the  whole.  They  wished 
to  retake  that  nigger  that  has  been  murdering  and 
thieving  about  the  country.  They  can't  allow  him 
to  run  at  large,  and  some  of  them  had  been  conceal- 
ing him." 

Portia  suddenly  bowed  her  head,  and  covered  her 
face.  *'  Mr.  Marshall,"  she  said,  in  an  awe-struck 
voice,  "  I  am  to  blame  for  this  evening's  awful  work. 
I  am  to  blame." 

"  What  an  unheard  of  idea  !  Your  brave  interces- 
sion saved  matters  from  being  worse;  you  can  have 
that  for  your  satisfaction." 

"  I  can't.  Wait  till  you  understand.  I  must  tell 
you.  You  will  blame  me,  but  you  will  help  me  — 
tell  me  what  to  do?"  She  told  him  rapidly  of  her 
fright  and  of  her  yielding  to  the  entreaties  of  Jose- 
phus  next  morning  to  say  nothing.     **  Now  you  see 


1 90    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

how  I  am  to  blame.  If  I  had  not  yielded  —  if  he 
had  been  taken  —  this  would  not  have  happened. 
We  are  weak  and  foolish,  we  women.  In  trying 
to  be  charitable,  we  overstep  the  mark.  In  my 
misplaced  pity,  I  have  done  this  terrible  thing," 
she   moaned. 

John  was  silent,  and  Portia's  heart  thumped  ir- 
regularly during  the  pause.  She  grew  cold  with 
anxiety  and  drew  her  shawl  closer  about  her.  Her 
mouth  became  dry.  She  opened  her  lips  to  speak, 
but  said  nothing.  He  leaned  over  and  tucked  the 
robes  gently  about  her. 

"  You  are  cold,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Marshall,  help  me.  Blame  me  if  you 
will,  you  can't  help  it  —  but  —  " 

"  No,  Miss  Van  Ostade,  I  do  not  blame  you.  You 
acted  nobly,  doing  the  best  you  knew.  It  is  a  com- 
fort sometimes  to  think  we  are  not  such  important 
factors  in  the  affairs  of  this  world  as  we  think  we 
are.  If  you  had  stayed  in  the  North,  do  you  think 
this  thing  would  not  have  happened?  It  was  bound 
to  happen." 

"Would  I  not  better  have  spoken,  though?"  she 
asked,  slightly  comforted. 

"  We  can't  tell ;  Josephus  may  have  been  right. 
He 's  a  good  sensible  fellow  for  a  nigger.  There 
is  something  behind  all  this,"  he  added  hurriedly  as 
they  were  nearing  the  house.  *'  I  shall  question 
Patterson  and  learn  what  I  can ;  in  the  mean  time, 
say  nothing  about  your  adventure,  I  beg  of  you. 
It  won't  do  to  have  that  get  about.  If  I  ma}^  I  will 
drop  in  to-morrow  with  any  news  I  have  been  able 
to  pick  up." 


The  Drive  Home  191 

"  Oh,  will  you  ?  I  won't  worry  grandfather,  or 
mamma,  but  I  had  to  tell  some  one  my  anxiety,  — 
it  was  too  dreadful  to  keep." 

"  Won't  you  dismiss  it  now,  at  least  until  you  hear 
from  me  again?  " 

"  I  will  try,  — •  and  —  and  thank  you."  She  gave 
him  her  hand  gratefully  and  then  hurried  up  the 
stairs  with  her  guests.  The  small  darky  drove  the 
gray  home,  and  John  stood  talking  affairs  over  with 
Hanford  Clark  a  few  moments,  and  then  walked 
slowly  back  to  Miss  Katherine's. 


CHAPTER   XV 

"WHY  N'T   YO'    SHOOT    TURRER   MULE?'^ 

THE  morning  dawned  dull  and  drizzly.  The 
sun  looked  out  on  the  world  with  one  bril- 
liant smile  and  then  crept  behind  the  heavy  clouds 
that  hung  over  the  mountains,  as  if  the  sight  of  the 
grewsome  thing  dangling,  hacked  and  bruised,  from 
the  great  gum-tree  beside  the  cabin  in  the  gorge, 
had  caused  him  to  hide  his  head  in  very  shame. 
The  linnets  and  finches  fluttered  restlessly  from 
tree  to  tree,  round  and  round  the  old  gum  as  if 
they  constituted  an  investigating  committee  ;  while 
the  rain  fell  softly  on  the  earth,  pattering  over  green 
leaves,  and  dripping  alike  from  the  soiled  rags  of 
Pete  Gunn  and  the  laurel  blossoms  in  the  thicket; 
washing  the  blood  stains  from  the  threshold  of  the 
log  church,  and  bathing  the  face  of  the  old  preacher 
who  had  fallen  there  when  he  went  where  he  might 
watch  the  ''  gates  lift  up  their  heads  to  let  the  King 
of  glory  through." 

It  was  election  day.  All  was  peaceful  in  the  little 
village.  The  white  voters  congregated  at  the  polls 
in  Budd's  saloon,  and  about  the  post-office  and 
depot.  There  was  much  quiet  discussion  and  con- 
siderable drinking.  Hanford  Clark  was  pumped 
cunningly  about  the  views  taken  at  the  new  board- 
ing-house concerning  the  raid  on  the  cabin,  but  he 
evaded  the  talk,  and  questioned   in  turn  as  to  the 

192 


"Why  n't  yo'  Shoot  Turrer  Mule?"     193 

probable   cause    of   Monk's    prolonged    absence    at 
this  time. 

**  What  does  he  mean  by  staying  away?"  he 
asked.  He  sat  with  his  back  to  the  group  of 
loungers,  and  his  hand  on  the  button  of  the  tele- 
graph machine  on  his  desk,  while  it  ticked  monoto- 
nously on. 

"  Skeered,  I  reckon,"  said  Patterson,  with  a  half- 
smile.  His  eyes  gleamed  with  a  peculiar  light  as 
they  rested  on  Hanford's  face. 

"  Yas,  he's  skeered  fas'  enough,"  said  another; 
**  them  smooth,  cheeky  kind  is  mighty  big  cowards." 

"Afraid?     I  guess  not.     What's  he  afraid  of?" 

The  last  speaker  thrust  his  tongue  in  his  cheek, 
and  Patterson  turned  away. 

"  Hello  !  Wait  a  minute.  Here  's  a  message  for 
him.  Don't  any  of  you  know  where  he  is?"  A 
languid  interest  awoke  in  the  crowd,  and  the  machine 
ticked  on.     "  He  's  wanted  down  in  Broadgate." 

"  I  reckon  they  du,  'long  'bout  this  time,"  said 
one. 

"  Let  *em  want  'im,""3trw:^*em ;  I  ain't  hunt'n'  can- 
didates fer  'em." 

"  Ef  they  can't  hang  on  tu  their  durned,  slippery 
candidates,  let  'em  hunt  'em  up  themselves." 

They  dispersed,  and  Hanford  was  left  to  his  own 
meditations.  He  decided,  unless  pressed  to  do  so 
by  some  hostility,  not  to  bring  up  the  subject  again. 
Judson  Chaplain  was  elected  to  the  office  Monk 
had  hoped  to  win,  quite  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
Patterson  element. 

No  negroes  attempted  to  go  to  the  polls.     Jose- 
phus  lay  groaning  in  his  cabin  loft,  while  a  few  of 
13 


1 94    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

their  bravest  gathered  quietly  at  the  scene  of  the 
last  night's  trial  by  lynch  law,  and  cared  for  their 
dead  unmolested.  The  body  of  the  old  preacher 
was  committed  to  the  keeping  of  the  hillside  where 
they  had  laid  their  beloved  teacher,  Miss  Mann,  and 
Pete  Gunn  was  buried  in  the  gorge.  The  coroner's 
jury  "  sat  on  them,"  and  found  the  cause  of  the 
death  of  one  to  be  hanging,  and  of  the  other  acci- 
dental shooting,  and  there  was  an  end  of  the  mat- 
ter, so  said  the  voters ;  possibly  the  old  preacher 
knew  better, —who  can  tell? 

During  the  morning  John  visited  his  old  nurse. 
She  came  hobbling  to  the  door  to  meet  him.  "  I 
knowed  yo'  'd  come,  honey,  —  we 's  in  a  heap  o' 
trouble." 

He  heard  Josephus  groaning  overhead,  and  his 
heart  filled  with  pity  for  the  old  woman  who  had 
carried  him  in  her  arms  and  nursed  him.  She  sat 
down  by  the  hearth  and  gazed  into  the  embers  (as 
if  she  saw  into  another  time  and  place),  with  an 
expression  of  hopeless  sorrow  on  her  face. 

"  Don't  take  on,  mammy.  Joe  shall  be  taken 
care  of.     Is  he  badly  hurt?" 

*'  I  do'  know,  honey.  He  nuvva  say  nufifin',  — jes' 
clum  up  yandah  in  de  night  'daout  wakin'  me,  an' 
dar  he  a-lyin'.  Oh,  Lawd  !  I  kyan'  git  up  dar  fo' 
tu  he'p  'im.  I  done  holla  up  is  he  hu'ted,  an'  he 
tol'  me.  Oh,  honey,  de  Lawd  done  po'in'  aout  de 
vials  o'  he's  wrath  on  yo'  ol'  mammy." 

*'  No,  mammy,  no,"  said  John,  comfortingly ;  "  the 
Lord  is  n't  angry  with  you.     That  is  n't  the  trouble." 

He  climbed  the  ladder  to  Joe's  loft  and  found 
the  poor  fellow  delirious  from  thirst  and  exhausted 


"  Why  n't  yo'  Shoot  Turrer  Mule  ?  "     195 

from  loss  of  blood.  He  brought  him  water  and 
food,  and  as  he  moved  over  the  creaking  boards 
he  could  hear  Clarissa's  voice  in  a  low  monotone 
praying  the  Lord  to  **  punish  he's  ol'  mudder 
an'  leab  de  boy  'lone."  "  She 's  crazy  with  her 
trouble,"  he  thought.  "  What  earthly  thing  does 
she  think  she  is  being  punished  for?"  She  stood 
at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  as  he  came  down  and  laid 
a  trembling  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  I  'clar'  yo'  dat  like  yo'  paw,  I  kyan'  look  on 
yo*  face  'daout  my  hea't  go  jump  like  hit  baoun' 
tu  cry  aout.  Oh,  honey,  honey,  don't  come  heah 
no  mo'.  Ef  yo'  come  heah,  dey '11  hu't  yo'  some 
way  mo'  'n  likely.  Dar  's  de  curse  o'  de  Lawd  on 
yo'  ol'  mammy,  honey  ;  yo'  kyan'  he'p  none.  Dar  's 
Joe  been  talkin'  he's  fool  talk  wid  de  niggahs  'baouts 
de  votin'.  Dat  ar  hu-come  dey  kill  de  mule,  an' 
now  dey  like  tu  kill  Joe  tu.  Go  yo'  way,  honey. 
Leab  yo'  ol'  mammy  b'ar  de  trouble  like  she  done 
b'ar  heap  o'  trouble  yo'  do'  know  nuffin'  'baout. 
I  kyan'  hab  no  ha'm  fall  on  yo'  haid." 

'*  You  stop  fretting,  mammy.  I  'm  all  right.  I  '11 
send  a  boy  to  look  after  Joe,  and  a  doctor  to  fix 
him  up  again,  and  he'll  be  as  good  as  new." 

"No  doctah  won'  come  heah,  mine  yo'  dat.  Yo' 
sen'  de  boy,  an'  I  '11  sen'  up  de  maount'n  fo'  Jake 
Hat'away.  He  knows  a  heap  'baouts  yarbs  'nd 
doctorin'.  Dey '11  trick  yo'  some  way  ef  dey  larns 
yo'  been  heah." 

*'  No,  they  won't,  mammy.  Joe's  too  badly  hurt 
to  be  fooled  with.  Don't  you  let  any  herb  doctor 
come  near  him.  I  '11  send  a  good  man  from  Ashe- 
ville,  a  Northern  man,  to  doctor  Joe,  and  you  must 


I  96    When  the  Gates  Lilt  Up  their  Heads 

do  everything  he  tells  you  to.  Don't  let  any  one 
meddle  with  him.     Hear?" 

Later  in  the  day  Portia  came  to  see  her.  Not 
daring  to  take  her  usual  walk,  she  had  Alexander 
drive,  and  Mrs.  Percy  and  the  children  accom- 
panied her.  Arrived  at  the  stream  with  the  tree 
for  a  foot  bridge,  Alexander  suggested  that  the 
children  go  hunt  for  "  posies."  "  Dis  heah  's  mighty 
fine  place  fo'  posies,"  he  said.  "  Ef  anybody  come 
erlong  dis-a-way,  I  gwine  tell  'em  de  bo'din'-haouse 
folkses  hunt'n'  posies." 

It  had  not  occurred  to  Portia  that  there  was  any 
reason  why  she  should  not  look  after  Josephus  in 
common  humanity.  Now  she  realized  that  the  old 
coachman  was  wishing  to  save  her  from  criticism 
by  not  allowing  the  boarding-house  equipage  to 
be  seen  standing  near  the  cabin,  so  she  took  the 
delicacies  she  had  brought  and  walked  on  alone. 
It  was  too  wet  for  posy  hunting,  and  they  all  sat 
in  the  carriage  until  her  return. 

Portia  found  the  old  woman  crouching  over  the 
coals  and  talking  to  herself,  while  Josephus  moaned 
overhead. 

''  Why,  Clarissa !  You  must  have  some  one  here 
who  can  go  up  and  look  after  him,"  said  Portia. 

"  Yas,  Miss  Po'tia;  young  Mars'r  John  say  he 
gwine  sen'  a  boy  tek  keer  on  'im." 

''  And  a  doctor,  —  is  n't  there  any  doctor  you  can 
get?" 

"  I  do'  know,  Miss  Po'tia,  Mars'r  John  say  he 
gwine  sen'  doctor  fom  Asheville." 

"  How  good  of  him  !  "  said  Portia,  gratefully.  It 
was  as   if  he  had    done  her  an  especial    favor    by 


*'  Why  n't  yo'  Shoot  Turrer  Mule  ? "     197 

coming  up  to  her  ideal  of  him  instead  of  falHng 
below  it.  "  Of  course  he  would  look  after  her, 
poor  old  creature,"  she  said  to  herself  as  she  hur- 
ried back  to  the  carriage  in  the  dampness. 

During  the  afternoon  two  white  men  came  to  the 
cabin  and  inquired  for  Josephus.  One  of  them 
pulled  a  pair  of  handcuffs  from  his  pocket  as 
Clarissa  pointed  up  the  ladder  without  speaking, 
in  answer  to  their  questions.  They  climbed  up 
and  found  the  wounded  man  lying  in  a  half-stupor, 
moaning  and  talking  incoherently. 

'*  Why  n't  yo'  tek  'im  'long?  "  said  the  old  woman, 
bitterly,  as  they  mounted  their  horses  to  ride  away 
without  him.  **  Likely  yo'  has  use  fo'  'im.  He  's 
good  tu  hang  yit,  ef  he  is  half  daid." 

"  He  '11  die  fo'  mo'nin'.  We  hev  no  use  fo'  a 
dead  niggah,"  said  one. 

"  Yas,  we  hev  mo'  use  fo'  a  dead  niggah  'n  we 
hev  fo'  a  live  one,"  said  the  other. 

"  Yo'  has  heap  o'  use  fo'  a  daid  niggah  dese 
days.  I  done  seed  de  time  yo'  willin'  tu  gib  a 
heap  fo*  a  right  smaht  live  niggah  like  Joe  war," 
she  continued  to  call  after  them.  "  I  done  seed 
de  time  yo 'd  hunt  fo'  'em  like  dey  been  made  o' 
cl'ar  gol',  ef  dey  git  fo'  tu  run  away.  Live  niggah 
wuth  a  heap  dem  days.  Why  n't  yo'  shoot  turrer 
mule?     Hit  a  right  smaht  mule  fo'  shootin'." 

She  went  muttering  back  into  the  cabin,  and 
replenishing  the  fire  sat  down  before  it  as  was  her 
wont,  gazing  into  the  burning  fragments  as  if  she 
read  there  the  history  of  her  race. 

"  Hit  sarved  Joe  like  he  'd  ought  tu  be  sarved 
fo'  hid'n*  a  murderin',  thievin'  niggah,"  said  one 
of  the  men. 


198     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

**  They '11  know  whar  they  b'long  after  this,  I 
reckon.  A  little  skeer  won't  du  'em  any  harm/* 
was  the  reply. 

*'Goin'  round  by  th'  mill?" 

**  Wal,  yes.     I  reckon  I  will." 

''  I  'm  thinkin'  I  '11  go  thet  road  tu."  They  turned 
their  horses'  heads  in  the  direction  of  Throop's  mill 
and  rode  out  of  sight. 

During  that  day  the  cowed  negroes  scarcely 
stirred  out  of  their  cabins,  but  after  the  darkness 
had  fairly  covered  the  hills  Gabriella  Gunn  left  her 
home,  and  taking  a  crosscut  over  a  steep  rise  and 
through  a  cotton  patch,  and  a  bit  of  pine  woods, 
reached  the  small  clearing  belonging  to  Josephus 
and  his  mother. 

*'  I  'lowed  yo'  'd  drap  in,"  said  Clarissa,  as  her 
visitor  took  a  roll  of  butter  and  four  new-laid  eggs 
out  of  a  cloth  in  which  she  had  tied  them.  The 
doctor  had  come  and  gone,  leaving  Josephus  more 
comfortable,  and  bringing  the  boy  with  him  John 
had  promised  to  send. 

Long  into  the  night  the  two  women  sat  by  the 
fire  and  talked.  "  I  tol'  Joe  quit  talkin'  'bouts  de 
votin' ;  I  tol'  'im  leab  dat  ar  tu  de  white  folkses. 
Niggahs  ain'  no  use  fo'  a  votin'  papah,  nohow." 
They  talked  in  low  tones  while  Gabriella  told  of 
the  raid  in  all  its  details,  over  and  over,  while  her 
companion  questioned  and  smoked. 

"  I 's  seed  a  heap  o'  ha'd  times,"  said  the  old 
woman  at  last;  ''but  ef  Joe  dies,  hit '11  be  de  wust 
knock  yit." 


CHAPTER    XVI 

"OL'    MISSUS'    RETURN" 

AFFAIRS  in  Patterson  soon  settled  to  their 
even  tenor.  Considerable  stir  was  made  in 
Broadgate  over  Monk's  mysterious  disappearance, 
until  it  was  accepted  that  he  had  taken  himself  off 
for  reasons  of  his  own,  when  his  room  was  broken 
open  and  his  effects  sent  to  relatives  in  the  North, 
none  of  whom  seemed  to  care  enough  for  him  to 
inquire  into  the  matter.  His  apartments  were  re- 
rented  to  John  and  Judson  Chaplain  for  offices,  and 
no  suspicion  of  foul  play  occurred  to  any  but  Han- 
ford  Clark.  John  was  too  much  taken  up  with  his 
building  and  his  love  for  Portia  to  care  what  such 
a  man  as  Monk  did  with  himself.  He  laughed  at 
his  friend's  suggestion,  and  took  him  over  the 
hotel's  foundations  with  pride,  showing  the  rapid 
progress,  and  talked  of  his  plans  with  a  light  heart. 
"  I  must  have  Aunt  Mary  and  Uncle  Darius  here 
to  the  house-warming,"  he  said.  "The  place  is 
booming.  Some  New  York  party  is  going  to  put 
up  a  residence  over  yonder,  —  I  saw  the  man  yes- 
terday." He  confided  everything  except  the  one 
matter  too  deep  and  too  sacred  to  be  touched  upon, 
and,  withal,  too  uncertain.  "  Come  over  to  the 
office  and  look  at  the  plans,"  he  said.  "I  am 
going  to  stay  until  the  mail  comes  in;"  and  they 
crossed  the  railroad  tracks  and  the  main  street  of 

199 


200    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Patterson  to  Monk's  old  rooms,  all  unconscious  of 
the  fate  of  its  late  occupant,  intent  only  on  their 
own  purposes  and  cares. 

"  We  must  have  a  new  station.  This  little  hole 
will  not  be  in  keeping  with  the  place  when  the 
hotel  is  done,"  said  John. 

''  A  stone  one  like  your  foundation  there.  It 
would  change  the  whole  aspect  of  the  place." 

Judson  Chaplain  entered  with  easy  saunter,  and 
seated  himself  with  them.  "  What  's  up }  Looking 
ovah  the  plans,  Mr.  Clark  ?  Mighty  imposing  front, 
that.  Those  galleries  running  all  around  three 
sides  are  a  fine  thing.  John  knows  what  is  wanted 
heah,  —  plenty  of  shade,  and  plenty  of  this  moun- 
tain air.  That  's  what  people  come  here  foh,  and 
that 's  what  we  're  going  tu  give  them.  The  whole 
thing  is  in  true,  hospitable  Southern  style.  Look 
at  this  hall  and  stairway,  — theah  's  sweep  foh  yu. " 

"  You  are  to  have  a  building  any  town  might  be 
proud  of.     I  see  it,"  replied  Clark. 

"  We  ought  to  have  a  better  station,"  said  John. 

"  I  reckon  we  ought.  Let 's  see,  is  n't  youah  uncle 
interested  in  the  road  ?  " 

"To  some  extent,  yes.  I  '11  draw  up  some  plans 
and  send  on  and  learn  what  he  thinks  of  it,  and 
then  we  can  submit  them  to  the  company."  They 
all  walked  out  again  to  look  over  the  ground. 

"This  space  will  have  tu  be  widened  consider- 
able," said  Jud. 

"What  will  you  do  with  that  hole.?"  asked 
Clark,  pointing  to  a  place  where  stone  had  been 
quarried  for  the  foundation,  leaving  an  unsightly 
spot. 


-or  Missus'  Return"  201 

**  Ask  Jud.  He  looks  after  the  grounds;  I  only 
manage  the  building." 

"Theah?  Oh,  I  '11  turn  that  into  a  grotto,  and 
have  it  lined  with  ferns,  and  a  grass  plat  in  front. 
Capital  place,  —  sightly,  tu.  I  sha'n't  du  much 
grading;  the  natural  slope  of  the  land  's  best  theah." 
Judson  spoke  with  the  gentle  Southern  drawl,  but 
he  had  any  amount  of  energy,  merely  requiring  op- 
portunity for  its  exercise.  His  fine  artistic  sense 
was  only  hampered  by  his  purse.  He  had  conceived 
a  sincere  liking  for  John,  and  enthusiastically 
seconded  all  his  schemes. 

The  evening  mail  thundered  over  the  trestle 
below  Patterson,  and  they  sauntered  down  to  the 
station.  Just  at  that  moment  a  bright  face  was 
looking  out  of  a  window  of  one  of  the  coaches, 
down  into  the  gorge  from  the  dizzy  height,  and  off 
over  the  hills,  which  towered  range  above  range, 
and  lost  themselves  in  the  glory  of  the  sunlight  of 
the  west. 

"Aunt  Isabel,  look.  Do  look!  This  is  as 
lovely  as  Switzerland,"  she  said  to  her  companion. 
"  Look  down.  Isn't  it  awful  .-^  What  if  the  train 
should  go  over  here !  " 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  look  down,  nor  to  think  of 
the  train's  going  over,"  said  the  aunt.  "Clare, 
bring  me  a  wrap.  I  am  chilly.  I  wonder  if  I  am 
to  suffer  with  the  cold  all  the  time,  now  we  are 
here."  ^ 

A  slight  young  woman  seated  across  from  them 
rose  and  wrapped  a  soft  downy  something  about  the 
old  lady,  who  shivered,  although  she  was  already 
well  "happed,"  as  the  Scotch  would  say,  in  fur  and 


202    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

lace.  Her  white,  wizened,  finely  cut  face,  with 
its  preternaturally  bright  eyes,  looked,  in  the  cloud 
of  costly,  filmy  stuff  surrounding  it,  strangely  spirit- 
like,—  alert  and  keen,  but  scarcely  flesh  and 
blood. 

"Oh,  no,  you  won't.  John  wrote  that  the  days 
are  so  warm  now,  even  you  would  not  complain." 

"  Whatever  possessed  you  to  insist  on  starting 
this  week.?  We  shall  be  here  without  a  word  of 
warning,   and  nowhere  to  go." 

"  He  knew  we  were  coming  weeks  ago.  He 
never  would  put  off  making  arrangements  for  us 
until  now;  besides,   I  did  write." 

"There  will  be  nothing  for  you  to  do,  now  you 
are  here." 

"I  don't  care.  I  hope  he  hasn't  received  the 
letter;  it  will  be  such  fun  to  see  all  he  is  up  to 
before  he  knows  we  are  here.  There  goes  the 
whistle!  and  not  a  sign  of  a  place.  Isn't  this 
awful,  going  around  this  curve  .f*  Look  down, 
Clare;  it  will  make  you  shiver.  Oh,  there  goes 
my  hat !  " 

"  Marguerite,  you  act  like  a  boy  just  out  of 
school." 

"  But  my  hat  is  gone.  The  wind  took  it  right 
off  my  head.  My  nice  long  hat -pin,  too.  Clare, 
can't  you  get  out  that  little  French  cap.'*  Quick, 
—  there  goes  th-e  whistle  again.  Oh,  Clare,  hurry. 
I  can't  arrive  bareheaded,  — -that  little  red  velvet 
one,   with  the  wing,  — oh,   thank  you." 

"Your  hair  is  coming  down,"  said  the  maid. 

"I  know.  Pin  it  up,  quick.  Oh,  dear!  how  I 
must   look !  "     She  turned  her  head  this  way  and 


**  or  Missus'  Return  ''  203 

that  to  see  in  the  little  mirror  over  the  seat.  Ah, 
she  was  far  more  bewitching  in  the  French  cap, 
the  rogue ! 

"What  difference  will  it  make  how  you  look? 
There  will  be  no  one  you  care  for  in  this  out-of- 
the-way  place." 

"You  have  taught  me,  Aunt  Isabel,  always  to 
be  ready  for  emergencies.  Don't  you  remember 
the  time  we  got  into  a  diligence  in  Italy,  where 
there  was  a  princess  in  disguise  ?  Now  I  call  that 
a  lesson  to  one  to  be  careful.  There  may  be  a 
prince  here,   for  all  we  know." 

The  train  puffed  slowly  up  the  grade,  gave  a 
little  spurt  of  impatient  haste  at  the  top,  and  came 
to  a  standstill. 

"Clare,  you  may  take  my  wrap.  I  sha'n't  need 
it  while  we  are  moving  about.  Where  is  my  little 
black  bag.?" 

"Here,  madam;  it  is  quite  safe.   I  have  all  safe." 

"I  don't  wish  my  jacket,  Clare,"  said  Mar- 
guerite, rushing  out  on  the  platform,  while  her 
aunt  followed  more  slowly;  the  maid,  and  the 
porter,  well  laden  with  bundles  and  luggage,  bring- 
ing up  the  rear. 

"  How  sweet  the  air  is !  Aunt  Isabel,  take  a 
good  long  breath." 

"Where  shall  we  find  John,  I  wonder.?  " 

"Right  here,  mother,"  said  he,  taking  the  little 
woman  in  his  arms.  "  Why,  you  drop  down  on 
one  like  a  —  " 

"Oh,  didn't  you  get  my  letter.?"  Marguerite 
put  up  her  mouth  for  a  kiss.  "There!  It  is  good 
to  see  you  again. "     She  glanced  through  the  little 


204    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

window  of  the  station  as  she  spoke,  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Hanford's  profile.  He  did  not  look 
toward  the  platform,  and  she  did  not  glance  that 
way  again. 

"  Now,  John,  where  are  we  to  go  .'*  "  asked  his 
mother. 

"  What  an  odd  little  place !  "  said  Marguerite. 
"  Everything  else  is  lovely.  What  did  they  have 
a  place  here  for  at  all,  if  they  must  have  it  so  ugly.? 
I  should  think  you  would  die  here,  John;  why 
don't  you.-*  " 

"Why  don't  1}  It  is  so  easy  to  live  here  with 
no  one  to  tease  me !  " 

"'I  have  improved,  John,  since  you  have  been 
away."  They  were  walking  toward  the  boarding- 
house  equipage  as  they  talked. 

"I  am  going  to  send  you  out  to  Mr.  Ridgeway's, 
mother.  He  lives  at  the  old  place;  I  think  I  wrote 
you." 

"  Send  us  ?     Why,  where  are  you  stopping.?  " 

"  Mrs.  Wells  had  pity  on  me,  and  took  me  in 
when  I  first  came;  but  you  will  be  far  more  com- 
fortable at  the  boarding-house." 

"What  a  desperately  squalid  little  place!  Why 
have  they  dumped  all  these  buildings  here.?  It 
was  far  prettier  as  it  used  to  be." 

"Ah,  but  you  don't  see  the  possibilities  of  it. 
This  is  the  nucleus  of  one  of  the  most  thriving 
little  towns  anywhere  to  be  found.  Wait  till  you 
see  the  hotel  I  am  putting  up.  Look  over  there, 
—  that,  rough  stone  is  the  beginning." 

"Are  we  to  ride  in  this.?  Why,  there  is  Alex- 
ander.    I  wonder  he  is  alive  yet." 


"  or  Missus'  Return  ''  205 

Marguerite  laughed  merrily.  "  Why,  Aunt  Isa- 
bel? You  are  alive  yet, — didn't  he  belong  to 
you  ?  " 

The  old  lady  scrutinized  him  through  her  glasses. 
"He  looks  withered  and  old,"  she  said,  not  realiz- 
ing that  she  also  had  undergone  somewhat  the 
same  transforming  change.  He  turned  with  a 
start  at  the  sound  of  her  voice. 

"Howdy,  Alexander,"  she  said;  and  he  sprang 
from  his  seat  and  was  obsequiously  bowing  ere 
he  could  overcome  his  surprise  and  agitation. 

"Howdy,  ma'm,  howdy.!*  j  am  right  glad  tu  see 
yo'  ah  return'  again  once  mo'  tu  yo'  fo'mer  home 
an'  habitation." 

"  That  is  very  well,  Alexander,  very  well,  in- 
deed ;  and  now  you  may  take  us  to  it  right  smart, 
too.  Come,  Marguerite,  what  are  you  waiting 
for.-*"  The  sun  cast  a  warm  glow  over  the  girl's 
face.  She  was  looking  at  the  box-like  little  sta- 
tion.     Hanford  Clark  had  not  left  his  post. 

"  What  an  ugly  hole  of  a  station !  "  she  said. 

John  stowed  them  away  in  the  ample  carriage. 
"Now,  Alexander,  drive  slowly.  You  don't  want 
to  pitch  your  old  mistress  over  one  of  these  steep 
places,  you  know." 

"  Naw,  sah,  naw,  sah,  I  do'  wan'  du  dat,  sart'n 
suah,   sah." 

"Oh,  John!  Aren't  you  going  with  us.^"  said 
Marguerite. 

"I  will  ride  on  ahead.  I  did  n't  get  your  letter, 
you  know.  It  will  be  better  to  notify  them;  "  and 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand  he  was  off. 

"What  a  beautiful  saddle-horse!     Aunty,  look." 


2o6    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Over  the  hill  and  down,  up  another  rise  and 
down,  through  the  clear  stream  up  to  his  horse's 
knees  in  water,  up  the  next  rise,  round  the  curve, 
up  still  higher,  down  and  up  again,  and  on,  John 
galloped  like  a  courier  riding  with  haste.  He 
drew  in  the  spicy  air  with  a  sense  of  exhilaration 
and  delight,  though  trepidation  was  knocking  at 
his  heart.  The  small  pebbles  flew,  spattering  in 
the  fountain  as  he  passed  it,  and  a  little  darky  boy 
stepped  out  from  somewhere  and  took  the  horse's 
bridle,  just  as  might  have  happened  in  the  old 
days.  Portia  had  a  clever  way  of  bringing  things 
to  pass.  She  had  trained  several  of  the  rising 
generation  into  typical  house  servants,  and  held 
sway  over  them  with  a  power  that  only  natures  at 
once  strong  and  kindly  can  wield. 

"That's  right.  Hold  him  till  I  come,  Andy. 
Where's  your  mistress.-*" 

"  Miz  Po'tia  yandah  in  de  drawin'-room,  sah. " 
Andy  rolled  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 

John  flew  up  the  steps.  What  if  she  should  not 
be  alone!  But  she  was  alone,  arranging  her  music. 
The  room  was  cool  and  dark,  and  sweet  with  the 
odor  of  flowers.  She  looked  up  brightly  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  as  if  she  were  expecting  him, 
but  she  was  not.  She  had  seen  much  of  him  since 
the  catastrophe  at  the  cabin  had  opened  the  way 
for  subsequent  interviews. 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  rushing  in  on  you  this  way, 
Miss  Van  Ostade.  Were  you  singing.-*  Please  go 
on.  Let  me  find  something.  Here,  you  were 
singing  this  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  your  voice. 
Will  you   sing  this.-*     Don't  begin  at  the  begin- 


V 


*'  or  Missus'  Return  *'  207 

ning.  This  is  where  you  were  singing  when  I 
came  up  that  evening  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
fountain  listening  to  you." 

*'  When  was  that?     You  never  told  me  of  it." 

"  No.      It  was  the  first  evening  I  came,  but  —  " 

"  And  you  were  out  there  in  the  dark,  and  we 
here  in  your  old  home,  —  oh,  why  —  " 

"I  was  not  alone,  — your  voice  was  with  me,  and 
has  been  ever  since, — day  and  night.  Sing  it; 
quick,  sing  it.  I  will  turn  the  leaves.  Here,  at 
this  measure,  begin.  I  was  under  the  arch  when 
you  made  this  trill,  and  here  I  came  in  and  sat  on 
the  edge  of  the  fountain,  and  there  I  remained 
until  the  lights  disappeared,  and  the  house  was 
still.      Now  I  have  confessed, — sing." 

And  Portia  sang.  The  notes  fell  like  pearls, 
and  then  burst  forth  in  a  flood  of  melody,  spark- 
ling like  a  shower  of  summer  raindrops  lighted  by 
the  sun,  and  the  pulsations  of  her  heart  throbbed 
through  them,  like  the  moving  of  a  breeze  from 
heaven. 

John,  listening,  knew  she  was  singing  for  him  as 
he  had  never  heard  her  before. 

When  the  song  was  done,  he  gathered  the  music 
up.  "May  I  have  this.?  May  I  keep  it,  and  will 
you  never  sing  it  for  any  one  else,  never.?  " 

She  reached  out  her  hand  for  it,  laughing. 
"Give  it  to  me,"  she  said.  "Why  do  you  want 
this?     I  have  other  things  that  are  better." 

"So  you  will  not  need  this,  and  I  may  keep  it. 
You  see,  I  do  not  want  to  think  of  your  singing  it 
for  any  one  else  in  the  world  as  you  sang  it  for  me 
just  now.      I  am  —  " 


2o8    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Looking  after  my  reputation?  Thank  you.  I  will 
practise  so  that  I  shall  not  disgrace  myself  again." 

"  You  know  better  than  that,  —  don't  laugh,"  he 
said  gravely.  "Promise  me  you  will  never  sing 
for  any  one  as  you  sang  for  me  just  now,  —  promise. 
But,  heavens!  how  can  you  help  it!  I  have  this, 
at  any  rate,  and  shall  keep  it.  Mother  and  Mar- 
guerite are  coming.  They  will  be  here  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  I  don't  wish  Marguerite  to  get  this  and 
sing  it.     I  wish  to  hear  no  one  but  you." 

"Oh,  why  have  you  let  me  sit  here  singing.?  I 
have  things  to  attend  to.  "  She  began  hastily  piling 
the  music.  Her  face  paled,  and  her  heart  beat  faster. 
"  What  shall  I  do  .-^     I  am  afraid  of  your  mother. " 

"You  are  afraid  of  no  one;  but  if  you  were, 
mother  is  not  the  one  to  fear,  —  she  is  just  a  weary, 
little,  old  lady.  Marguerite  loves  her,  and  you 
will  love  Marguerite.  Every  one  seems  to,  and  I 
know  you  will  pronounce  her  a  darling.  If  mother 
shows  any  of  her  old-time  prejudice,  pay  no  heed  to 
her  notions,  and  —  "  he  hesitated,  — "I  have  some- 
thing to  ask  of  you.  Will  you  let  me  put  the  horse 
you  rode  yesterday  in  your  keeping.-*  I  am  under 
the  greatest  obligations  to  you  as  it  is,  but  I  ask 
this  because  I  have  certain  reasons.  I  never  ride 
her  myself,  and  the  arrangement  will  save  me  a 
world  of  trouble.  I  —  I  have  given  Alexander 
directions,  —  I  —  I  shall  call  her  yours  for  the  sake 
of  convenience,  for  the  present,  you  know  —  " 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Marshall,  I  see  through  your  '  cer- 
tain reasons. '  How  —  this  is  only  one  of  your 
ways  of  giving  me  pleasure.      I  can't  —  " 

"And  myself  also.      Our  evening  rides  will  end 


''  or  Missus'  Return  **  209 

if  I  may  not  have  my  way.  The  horse  must  be 
yours  until  December,  and  you  will  ride  with  Mar- 
guerite sometimes,  will  you  not?  I  have  a  saddle- 
horse  for  her,  and  a  team  for  mother,  and  this  is  in 
my  way  there  in  my  stable.  They  must  be  able  to 
ride  and  drive,  or  they  will  be  miserable.  There 
they  are,  driving  in.  Tell  me,  —  may  I  please 
myself.-*  " 

**  Must  I  accept  so  much  from  you }  "  Her  heart 
beat  loudly.  She  turned  away  her  head,  and  her 
lip  quivered  with  momentary  pride.  For  an  in- 
stant she  rebelled  against  her  fate.  "This  woman 
will  despise  me,  and  he  knows  it,"  she  thought. 
He  stepped  toward  her,  and,  stooping,  looked  in 
her  face.  Something  glistened  on  her  eyelashes, 
but  she  lifted  her  head  and  held  out  her  hand  with 
a  smile,  noting  the  look  of  pain  in  his  eyes. 

"Forgive  me.  I  can  do  nothing  else,  and  I  need 
your  help  more  than  ever  now.  I  do  appreciate 
your  kindness,  I  do;  but  that  only  makes  it  harder. 
Otherwise  I  could  lift  my  head  above  it,  even  if 
she  did  despise  me;  but  now — -  Oh,  wait,  I  must 
call  mamma.  Stay  and  take  dinner  with  them. 
Please ! " 

She  was  gone.  He  went  to  assist  his  mother 
from  the  carriage,  and  when  he  turned  toward  the 
house  again  she  stood  in  the  doorway,  radiant  as  a 
queen. 

"Will  you  go  directly  to  your  rooms. ^  "  she  said. 
"A  journey  like  this  is  so  fatiguing." 

"We  are  not  in  the  least  weary,"  said  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall. "  Clare,  where  is  my  —  "  but  Clare  was 
already  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  following  the  maid. 
14 


CHAPTER    XVII 

A   GIRL'S    WAY 

"  £^HE    is   as   frail   as    if   a  breath  would    blow 

^[j  her  away,"  said  Portia,  dropping  into  her 
mother's  room  a  moment  before  dinner.  "What 
a  dear  little  place  your  room  is  to  rest  in !  "  She 
threw  herself  on  her  mother's  lounge,  and  locked 
her  hands  together  over  her  head. 

"  How  little  we  see  of  each  other  now !  "  said  her 
mother,  with  a  half-sigh. 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  having  my  reward.  I  can  see 
you  growing  stronger,  and  for  the  rest  I  am  not 
going  to  care.  Of  course  it  will  be  harder  than  at 
first,  now  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Percy  are  gone,  and  there 
are  more  strangers,  and  Mrs.  Marshall  has  come; 
I  felt  her  presence  the  moment  she  stepped  over 
the  threshold.  I  see  I  shall  feel  just  this  way 
every  minute  she  is  here,  whether  she  is  with  me 
or  not." 

"Feel  what  way,  daughter.?  " 

"I  can't  forget  for  an  instant  that  she  is  in  the 
house.  She  looks  like  a  wraith,  —  as  if  she  had 
come  here  to  haunt  it." 

"Don't  let  your  brilliant  imagination  get  the 
better  of  you,  dear.  In  my  opinion  she  is  in- 
tensely human." 

"I  have  asked  Mr.  Marshall  to  dinner  with  his 
mother.      It  will  help  to  get  over  the  first  evening, 

2IO 


A  Girl's  Way  21 1 

and  I  '11  rearrange  the  tables.  Mr.  Betts  is  always 
so  cheery;  I  '11  ask  him  to  sit  at  grandfather's 
table,  and  put  Mrs.  Marshall  there  too.  She  must 
like  grandfather,  if  she  likes  any  one.  How  will 
that  do  ?  " 

"Very  well,  I  should  think." 

A  merry  peal  of  laughter  rang  out  on  the  quiet 
air  from  the  yard  below.  Portia  rose  and  looked 
out.  Marguerite  was  talking  with  John  and  romp- 
ing with  Juliet. 

"  They  are  on  good  terms  already,  —  she  and 
Juliet;  look,  mamma.  What  a  pretty  little  gypsy! 
There  comes  Mr.  Russell  up  the  path.  I  do  hope 
he  will  fall  in  love  with  her;  it  would  save  me  a 
world  of  trouble.  Don't  look  as  if  you  thought  me 
bad,  mamma;  I  am  going  down."  She  went  to  the 
mirror,  and  looked  in  absent-mindedly,  poking  at 
her  fluffy  hair.  "  Mamma,  what  shall  I  do  about 
Mr.  Russell.''  They  say  he  is  worth  millions, 
and  he  stays  and  stays.  Would  you  like  a  son-in- 
law  worth  millions.-*  Would  you  like  one  about 
your  age,  mamma,  — a  nice  companionable  one.?  " 
Portia's  eyes  danced.  "Now  you  think  me  bad 
again,  but  you  don't  tell  me  what  to  do."  She 
added  a  touch  of  lilac  to  her  white  dress,  and  sat 
down  at  her  mother's  feet. 

I  thought  you  were  going  down,  dear." 
You  are  evading.     You  were  asked  a  question. 
Mr.  Russell  will  go  to  his  room  in  a  moment,  and 
I  will  go  down.      I  have  ten  more  precious  minutes 
at  least  with  you,  so  now  tell  me." 

The  mother  kissed  her  smooth  forehead.     "Fol- 
low your  heart,  deary." 


2 1  2     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"I  can't  until  I  know  I  have  one,"  she  said, 
albeit  with  a  guilty  conscience.  "What  there  is 
of  my  heart  you  have.  I  could  do  just  everything 
for  you,  —  could  go  to  Europe,  besides,  and  finish 
my  studies,  — fulfil  some  of  my  old  ambitions  — 
and  —  well,  I  wouldn't  keep  boarders,  at  any  rate. " 
"  Has  he  said  anything  —  has  he  asked  —  " 
"I  have  managed  to  escape  thus  far."  Her 
cheeks  flamed.  "It  is  very  convenient  to  have 
duties  now  and  then.  Three  times  he  has  tried 
to  say  what  I  could  not  let  him  say.  He  told  me 
the  finest  thing  in  the  world  for  you  would  be  to 
take  the  Marienbad  baths,  and  he  keeps  making 
plans,  — says  I  should  be  in  Germany,  or  Italy,  to 
become  what  I  might,  and  that  I  am  wasting  my 
talents  here.  It 's  all  very  true,  but  I  must  marry  a 
fortune  and  step  into  a  heart  vacated  by  some  one 
else  to  do  it,  and  he  knows  I  must.  If  you  were 
a  man,  would  you  bribe  a  girl  to  marry  you.?  I 
would  not." 

You  said  he  is  my  age.      He  can't  be  so  old." 
He  is  twenty  years  older  than  I,  at  least."  .    ,- 
"  But  that  is  not  so  very  old. "  /  / -t?  ^ 

"  No,  not  for  a  man,  —  and  with  ever  so  much 
money,"  she  said  mischievously.       "How   merce- 
nary that  sounds !     Let  's  not  talk  of  it  any  more." 
"  But  you  know  you  must  —  " 
"I  know  only  too  well;  but  what  must  I  do.-*  " 
"Whatever   you   do,    consult    only   your    heart, 
child;  no  other  course  is  safe." 

"  Shall  we  go  down }  I  must  look  over  the 
tables.  Oh,  dear!  There  is  the  bell.  I  told 
Andy  not  to  ring  it  in  the  halls  again." 


A  GirFs  Way  213 

Dinner  over,  the  guests  gathered,  as  usual,  in 
the  drawing-room,  but  soon  divided,  some  seeking 
the  piazza,  tempted  out  by  the  soft  air.  John  took 
his  cousin  to  one  corner,  under  the  honeysuckles, 
where  they  could  see  Portia  as  she  poured  the 
coffee,  the  fragrance  of  which  came  out  through 
the  open  windows.  Juliet  lingered  by  Portia's 
chair,  and  arranged  the  pretty  cups,  handing  each 
one  to  the  maid  as  Portia  filled  it. 

"I  won't  pass  them  to-night,  because  Johnny 
isn't  here  any  more,"  she  said. 

*'You  can  stay  here  and  help  me,  can't  you, 
deary .^  Now  the  little  blue  cup;  that  is  right. 
You  see  I  need  you."  So  they  poured  the  coffee 
together;  and  John,  talking  with  Marguerite  out- 
side, watched  the  lamp-light  play  over  Portia's  face 
and  hair  as  she  bent  her  head  over  the  little  tea- 
table  within.  Looking  out  into  the  gloom  from 
the  brightness,  she  could  not  see  his  face,  but  she 
vaguely  felt  his  eyes  on  her,  nevertheless.  Mar- 
guerite was  watching  her  also. 

"What  a  lovely  complexion!  but  I  suppose  all 
Northern  ladies  have  that." 

"Complexion?  Yes,  it  is  good.  Why  didn't 
mother  come  down  ?  " 

Marguerite  laughed  merrily.  "I  told  her  there 
were  only  old  men  and  women  down  here,  so  she 
let  me  come  without  her."  She  leaned  forward  and 
whispered  in  his  ear,  "Aunty  said  she  had  no 
doubt  they  were  a  vulgar  crowd,  and,  for  her  part, 
she  was  in  no  hurry  to  make  their  acquaintance. 
,  What  do  you  think.?" 

"We  will  discuss  that  another  time,"  he  said 
irritatedly. 


214    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"I  told  her  I  thought  Miss  Van  Ostade  just 
lovely.      What  do  you  think?" 

"Possibly  you  may  be  right." 

"  You  ought  to  know,  being  right  here  so  long. 
Now,  if  you  are  going  to  be  cross  the  first  time  we 
have  seen  each  other  for  a  year,  I  won't  sit  with 
you.  I  '11  go  and  talk  to  that  youngish  woman. 
What  is  her  name,  —  Miss  Keeler.?  " 

"Miss  Keller.      She  is  from  Chicago." 

"Well,  let  's  talk  to  her.  Is  she  nice.?  Not  so 
nice  as  Miss  Van  Ostade,  do  you  think.-*  even  if 
she  does  keep  boarders." 

"  No,  no,  sit  still.  Here  comes  the  coffee.  Will 
you  have  sugar  ?  Yes.  Cream  ?  No.  I  remem- 
ber. I  fail  to  see  what  keeping  boarders  has  to 
do  with  niceness." 

"I  know,  you  always  fail  to  see  something;  but 
there,  never  mind.  We  are  not  going  to  quarrel 
this  whole  summer  long,  are  we.?  I  mean,  of 
course,  if  I  do  everything  you  wish  me  to,  and 
think  just  as  you  do  about  everything.  We  never 
do  quarrel  when  I  do  that." 

"Marguerite,  do  you  really  mean  what  you  say.? 
Come,  take  that  last  back.  Let  me  hold  your 
cup." 

"No,  thanks.  I  don't  mean  quite  all  of  it,  no; 
but  now  I  am  going  to  say  what  I  really  do  mean. 
In  spite  of  all  I  can  do,  John,  we  are  going  to  have 
a  time  of  it.  Aunty  has  n't  gotten  over  her  absurd 
notion  yet."  John  leaned  toward  her  as  she  spoke 
in  low  tones,  and  Portia  passed  them  to  talk  with 
some  guests  who  had  only  arrived  the  evening ^ 
before;  but  John  was  too  much  absorbed  in  Mar- 


A  Girl's  Way  215 

guerite's  words  to  know  that  Portia's  skirts  had 
brushed  his  chair. 

"There  is  only  one  thing  left  to  do,  John.  You 
must  fall  in  love  with  some  one  else.  That  would 
settle  the  matter  for  good  and  all." 

He  laughed.  "Why  don't  you  do  that.?"  he 
said. 

"Why  don't  I.'*  I  have  tried  it  over  and  over 
again,  till  she  watches  me  as  a  cat  watches  a 
mouse."  She  patted  her  foot  on  the  ground  im- 
patiently. John  straightened  himself  and  looked 
about.  Portia  was  leading  the  guests  in  to  her 
mother  and  Mrs.  Keller.  Mr.  Russell  followed 
and  led  her  to  the  piano,  and  John  looked  away. 

"John,  put  your  head  down  so  I  can  talk  to  you. 
How  provoking  you  are!     I  have  more  to  say." 

"  Let  me  take  your  cup  back  first,"  he  said,  long- 
ing to  be  near  Portia,  if  only  for  a  moment. 

"  I  am  not  through  with  it  yet.  Listen.  You 
must  fall  in  love  with  some  one;  there  is  no  other 
way,  —  I  have  thought  it  all  out.  Now  Miss  Van 
Ostade  is  lovely;  you  can  see  that  for  yourself,  if 
you  have  any  sense.  Men  are  so  stupid  about  such 
things."  The  notes  of  the  piano  came  out  to 
them.  Portia  had  persuaded  Mrs.  Clare  to  play  a 
nocturne,  and  sat  near  with  her  hands  dropped  in 
her  lap,  and  her  head  leaning  against  the  wall, 
listening  and  thinking. 

John  glanced  that  way,  and  rose.  "What  non- 
sense !  Marguerite,  are  you  ever  going  to  be  wise  ?  " 
but  she  was  wiser  than  he  thought.  "  Come,  give 
me  the  cup.     The  others  are  sending  theirs  back." 

**John,   listen.     Either   you   must   give  up  and 


2 1 6    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

marry  me  (stop  scowling),  or  fall  in  love  with  her. 
Aunty  is  on  the  war  path  again." 

"Goodness!  Don't  talk  so  loud.  Very  well, 
then,   1*11  marry  you." 

"  No,  you  won't." 

The  maid  took  the  cups  from  him  as  he  entered 
the  hall,  and  he  turned  to  speak  to  Hanford,  who 
was  just  coming  down  the  stairs. 

"Why  were  you  not  here  at  dinner?  "  he  asked. 

"I  was  detained,"  said  Hanford,  hastily,  and 
passed  on  out.  He  lingered  near  the  chair  John 
had  just  vacated,  while  the  piano  rippled  on,  and 
Marguerite  leaning  over  the  piazza  rail,  watched 
the  fountain  playing  in  the  long  path  of  light 
which  streamed  from  the  open  door. 

"Miss  McLourie,"  he  said  at  length,  bending 
toward  her.  She  started  violently.  "  I  beg  par- 
don; I  was  too  abrupt.     May  I  take  this  chair?  " 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  half  rose.  "  Cer- 
tainly. It  is  John's  place.  I  was  going  in,  —  but 
I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"Then  prove  it  by  staying  a  moment,  will  you 
not  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid  aunt  will  want  me." 

"Only  an  instant.  It  is  so  long  since  I  have 
seen  you.      It  is  years." 

"  Barely  one  year, "  she  said,  seating  herself  again. 

"  Surely,  you  are  right.  But  it  is  years  to  me, 
and  this  is  the  last  place  I  ever  dreamed  of  another 
meeting." 

"I  wondered  why  you  ever  came  to  this  uncivi- 
lized  —  what  shall  I  call  it?     I  understand  now." 

"Call  it  wonderland.     Do  you  understand?  " 


A  Girl's  Way  217 

"Of  course.  Haven't  you  just  told  me  you 
thought  this  the  last  place  011  earth  where  there 
would  be  any  chance  of  seeing  me  ?  "  She  looked 
at  the  fountain  again. 

He  took  up  the  end  of  one  of  the  long  cherry 
ribbons  that  hung  down  over  her  white  costume, 
and  mechanically  wound  it  round  his  fingers.  "  Did 
you  receive  the  letter  I  sent  you  a  few  weeks  ago  ?  " 
he  said.  She  looked  down  at  the  toe  of  her  boot, 
and  then  away  at  the  garden.  The  guests  had  col- 
lected in  the  drawing-room,  all  but  Mr.  Button 
and  Mr.  Ridgeway,  who  remained  talking  on  the 
steps.      "You  did  not  get  it?  "    he  repeated  slowly. 

"I  did  not  say  so."  She  turned  and  looked  full 
in  his  face.      "I  said  nothing." 

"And  you  wrote  nothing." 

"We  were  coming  so  soon,  and,  anyway,  I  don't 
see  what  your  thinking  John  and  I  were  engaged 
had  to  do  with  your  actions.  I  rather  liked  being 
engaged  to  him;  it  pleased  aunty,  and  I  had  ever 
so  much  more  freedom.  Aunty  let  me  do  just 
whatever  I  pleased." 

Mrs.  Clare  came  to  the  door  and  looked  out. 
"Oh,  Mr.  Ridgeway,"  she  said,  "I  was  looking  for 
you.  We  want  you  to  play  an  obligato  for  Miss 
Van  Ostade,  if  you  will,  —  the  one  you  played  last 
evening." 

"Certainly,"  he  replied,  and  began  to  tune  his 
violin. 

"Are  they  to  have  more  music.'*  Then  we  would 
better  go  in." 

"It  will  sound  far  better  out  here,"  said  Han- 
ford  ;  but  she  walked  restlessly  toward  the  door. 


2 1  8    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Come  out  in  the  garden,  then.  Let  us  walk 
once  around  the  fountain,  and  through  those  paths 
and  back.  They  are  listening  to  the  music;  you 
will  not  be  missed,  nor  shall  I;  besides,  I  must 
talk  to  you,  if  only  for  a  moment." 

"No,  don't  talk  to  me,"  she  said,  laughing,  and 
taking  his  arm.  "I  will  go  if  you  won't  talk  to 
me." 

"  But  I  must.  We  never  finished  our  last  talk. 
Why  not .?  " 

"You  are  as  serious  as  Aunt  Isabel  when  she 
has  a  lecture  in  store  for  me.  Besides,  I  want  to 
listen.  I  love  a  violin, — ^  and —  Oh,  what  a 
voice!     Who  sings  like  that.?" 

"Miss  Van  Ostade.  Please  look  at  me,  Miss 
McLourie." 

"I  can't,  in  the  dark." 

"  Marguerite,  it  is  not  dark.  You  can  see  me. 
Marguerite,  why  did  you  come  here  if  you  did  not 
want  me  to  tell  you  this.?  You  knew  I  must;  you 
knew  I  could  not  see  you  without  telling  you.  You 
knew  why  I  went  away  so  suddenly,  — ^  because  I 
could  not  trust  myself  to  be  near  you.  Now  you 
are  here,  I  can  do  nothing  else.  Marguerite."  He 
took  her  hand,  which  was  slipping  from  his  arm, 
and  held  it.  "When  you  knew  how  I  must  love 
you,  all  this  long  time,  have  you  never  thought 
of  me,  never  once.?  Is  it  nothing  to  you  that  you 
have  a  man's  heart  in  your  keeping.?  Is  it  noth- 
ing to  you  but  a  plaything?" 

She  gave  a  light  laugh,  but  her  hand  trembled 
in  his.  He  felt  the  tremor,  and  his  fingers  closed 
over  it. 


A  Girl's  Way  219 

"No,  I  don't  like  men's  hearts  to  play  with;  I 
like  something  better.  Aunt  Isabel  always  told 
me  men's  hearts  are  bad;  that  is  why  I  won't  have 
any  of  them. " 

"You  have  everything;  I  have  nothing,  only  my 
love  for  you.  That  masters  me.  I  can  fight  against 
it  no  longer. " 

"Do  you  think  it  very  complimentary  to  fight 
against  it.''  I  don't."  He  drew  her  hand  to  his 
lips,  but  she  took  it  from  him.  "  If  you  do  so,  I 
sha'n't  talk  to  you," 

"It  is  because  I  have  only —  Oh,  can't  you  un- 
derstand.^ " 

"  Do  you  think,  if  you  had  all  the  wealth  in  the 
world,  if  you  were  king  of  all  the  earth,  that  by 
adding  that  to  your  love  you  could  make  me  love 
you  if  I  did  not  love  you  without.''" 

She  stood  before  him  with  clinched  hands  and 
flashing  eyes,  this  little  giant  of  tyranny;  but  as 
suddenly  her  mood  changed.  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  spread  out  her  hands  with  a  laugh. 
He  took  them  both,  but  she  drew  them  away. 

"  No,  no.  I  will  not  talk,  I  will  be  free,  I  tell 
you,  and  have  a  good  time  all  summer  long,  and 
you  must  not  trouble  me  so." 

"Does  it  trouble  you  so  that  I  love  you.'*  "  His 
voice  was  very  low. 

"Yes,  it  does.  I  tell  you  it  does.  I  never  tried 
to  make  you  love  me.  I  will  be  free.  I  have 
never  had  freedom  like  other  American  girls.  I  am 
an  American  girl,  —  I  was  born  here,  if  my  mother 
was  Spanish,  —  yet  Aunt  Isabel  would  always 
keep  me  tied  to  her  every  moment,  or  would  tie  me 


1 


2 20    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

to  some  one  else,  whether  I  will  or  not.  No,  I  will 
not  hear  you.  1  will  be  free,  and  go  about  alone 
everywhere,  and  do  what  I  please.  I  will  be  tied 
to  no  one.  I  have  been  led  about  all  my  life  like 
a  little  pet  dog,  and  now,  for  this  one  summer,  I 
will  go  my  own  way,   I  will." 

He  spoke  very  tenderly.  *'  Marguerite,  you  little 
wild  bird  —  " 

"There  it  is  again."  She  sprang  from  his  touch. 
"  I  am  a  woman  with  a  soul  of  her  own.  If  I  were 
a  wild  bird,  what  would  you  do.-*  Put  me  in  a 
cage.  Oh,  I  am  afraid  of  you  all.  Let  us  go  back 
to  the  house.      If  you  love  me,  take  me  back." 

Once  more  he  drew  her  hand  gently  through  his 
arm.  "  We  will  go  back.  Marguerite.  You  are 
right.  See,  now,  how  I  love  you.  All  through 
this  long  year  I  have  thought  of  you;  hour  after 
hour  I  have  longed  for  one  look  into  your  eyes; 
your  name  has  been  on  my  lips;  and  here,  this 
little  glove  I  have  kissed  a  thousand  times,  have 
slept  with  it  under  my  pillow  because  you  had 
worn  it  —  and  yet  I  banished  myself  here  in  this 
lonely  place,  never  to  see  you  again,  because  of 
my  friend,  to  be  true  to  him.  Now  you  are  near 
me  at  last ;  you  came  of  yourself.  Oh,  Marguerite, 
Marguerite  !  "  His  voice  shook.  She  would  have 
spoken,  but  he  continued :  "  Now,  because  I  love 
you  more  than  my  own  soul,  hear  me;  I  will  never 
speak  to  you  of  my  love  again  until  you  give  me 
permission.  You  beautiful  woman,  with  your 
woman's  soul,  it  is  your  right  to  be  as  free  as  the 
winds  of  heaven.  I  would  not  hold  you  now  if  I 
could,  until  you  come  to  me  of  yourself,  and  find 


A  Girl's  Way  221 

my  arms  no  longer  a  fetter  but  a  resting-place;  but 
I  shall  love  you,  I  shall  love  you,  and  trust  that 
'some  day —  Only  this  once  —  here,  in  the  shadow 
—  no?  Marguerite,  this  once  on  your  lips.  See, 
I  promise  you,  — there,  it  is  sealed  with  that  kiss, 
and  that  and  that, —  forever,  until  I  may,  I  will  not 
seek  to  bind  you,  nor  hold  you  even  by  my  love. 
If  you  think  this  is  nothing  that  I  promise,  remem- 
ber how  I  must  see  you  day  after  day,  and  say  only 
the  little  commonplaces  that  others  say,  and  even 
see  others  trying  to  win  what  I  have  promised  to 
wait  for  even  to  the  grave."  They  were  silent. 
"Marguerite,  have  you  nothing  to  say?" 

She  looked  up.  "  Only  this,  if  you  care  for  it. 
I  will  let  no  one  take  your  —  no  one  shall  win  me, 
but  I  will  be  free,  and  — •  " 

"And  what?" 

"  Never  mind."  She  put  out  her  hands  in  a  half- 
repentant  way,  and  he  took  them  both.  "  But  —  I 
am  sorry,  only  I  can't  help  it  all." 

"You  go  in  alone,  little  one.  I  am  going  to 
walk.  To-morrow  I  will  try  to  meet  you  just  as  a 
common  friend.  You  will  be  so  free  that  you  will 
forget  even  that  I  love  you. "  He  kissed  her  fingers 
and  turned  quickly  away. 

Marguerite  lingered  without,  and  finally  sat  on 
the  edge  of  the  fountain.  The  sound  of  the  violin 
came  to  her  in  fitful  quavers,  like  a  wail.  She 
cried  a  little,  then  wiped  her  eyes,  and  threw 
pebbles  in  the  water.  Poor  little  one!  her  heart 
ached,  but  she  said,  "I  don't  care.  It  is  his  own 
fault.  Why  should  he  persist  in  loving  me,  when 
he  sees  how  it  troubles  me?     I  will  go  in  and  not 


22  2    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

care."  But  she  did  not  go  in,  and  she  did  care. 
She  waited  there  in  the  deepening  darkness  until 
Mrs.  Marshall  sent  Clare  to  call  her.  John  stood 
in  the  door.  He  had  forgotten  his  little  cousin  for 
the  time, 

"I  will  find  Miss  McLourie,"  he  said  to  the 
maid.      "She  was  here  a  moment  since." 

He  stepped  out,  but  the  chairs  were  empty.  He 
sauntered  toward  the  fountain  to  wait  their  re- 
turn, and  a  white  little  figure  moved  among  the 
shadows.  "  Why,  Marguerite,  what  are  you  doing 
here.?" 

"Throwing  pebbles  in  the  water,  and  listening  to 
the  music." 

"Alone.'*  Where  is  Hanford  .-*  I  thought  he  was 
with  you.' 

"Mr.  Clark.?  How  should  I  know  where  he  is? 
Why  did  n't  you  come  back  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  thought  you  would  both  be  in, 
in  a  moment.      I  am  sorry." 

"Oh,  never  mind.  And  so  this  is  where  you 
used  to  live !  What  a  perfectly  lovely  place  !  Let 's 
go  off  and  have  all  kinds  of  good  times  riding  and 
driving.  Are  there  any  nice  people  here,  just  to 
make  things  lively,   you  know.?" 

"  Yes,  a  few.  I  really  thought  you  would  find 
the  house  such  a  ramshackly  old  affair  you  would 
be  glad  to  hurry  away.  What  is  there  about  it 
you  find  so  perfectly  lovely.?" 

"Oh, — I  don't  know.  It  isn't  the  house  ex- 
actly; it  's  her  way,  and  the  whole  air  of  the  place, 
and  the  trees,  and  that  delicious  old  gentleman  we 
were  talking  with  before  dinner,  and  the  hills,  and 


A  Girl's  Way  223 

oh,  everything.  The  freedom  most  of  all,  and  the 
violin,  and  the  rest  of  the  music,  and  —  " 

"Aren't  you  rather  mixing  things?  Her  way, 
and  the  trees,  and  the  delicious  old  gentleman,  — 
one  would  think  he  was  something  we  had  served 
up  for  dinner." 

"We  had.  I  served  him  up  for  myself,  and  sea- 
soned him  with  —  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  I  can't  tell." 

"With  Miss  Van  Ostade.  Do  you  know  he  is  in 
love  with  her.^     She  knows  it,  if  you  don't." 

John  gave  an  inward  start.  "  Let  a  woman  alone 
for  making  such  a  discovery,"  he  replied  in  an 
indifferent  tone. 

"Of  course  you  don't  care,"  she  said,  watchfully. 
"But  it  was  fun  to  see  it  going  on  under  one's  very 
nose.  Is  he  rich .?  He  has  the  air  of  a  rich  man. 
Now,  if  he  is,  and  she  should  marry  him,  what  a 
good  time  she  could  have!" 

"  Marguerite,  did  you  ever  have  one  serious 
thought  in  your  life.?" 

"Isn't  that  a  serious  thought?  I  am  sure  it 
must  be  for  him.      I  mean  what  I  say." 

"Don't  mean  it,  then." 

"There!  I  thought  you  weren't  so  indifferent 
as  you  would  have  me  think.      Now  you  see." 

"  I  never  saw  any  one  who  would  presume  to  form 
opinions  on  such  slight  occasion." 

They  were  going  up  the  steps.  Marguerite  would 
not  trust  herself  in  the  lighted  room. 

"Oh,  Miss  Van  Ostade,  you  cannot  imagine  how 
charming  your  voice  sounded  out  here.  Why  did 
you  stop  singing?     I  was  enjoying  it  so!     Good- 


224     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

night,  John.  Good-night,  Miss  Van  Ostade.  No, 
I  can't  stay.  Aunty  wants  me.  Good-night." 
She  left  them  standing  there,  and  hurried  up  the 
dingy  old  stairway. 

"  Have  you  seen  Josephus  lately }  "  said  Portia. 

"  No,  I  have  been  so  busy  I  have  not  been  near 
for  a  day  or  two.  He  is  doing  very  well,  though. 
It  is  better  that  he  should  not  go  about  for  a 
while." 

"Only  think.  All  my  life  I  must  feel  myself 
partly  the  cause  of  that  awful  deed,  —  shooting 
men  down  like  that,  —  innocent  men." 

"  Come  farther  from  the  door,  and  sit  here  a 
moment,"  said  John.  "I  want  to  speak  of  it  only 
where  there  is  no  possibility  of  being  overheard. 
Surely,  you  are  not  blaming  yourself  still.  I  beg 
you  will  not.      Have  you  told  any  one.'*  " 

"  Not  even  my  mother;  only  you.  I  think  keep- 
ing silence  in  this  way  only  makes  me  feel  more 
guilty.  What  must  one  suffer  who  has  really 
committed  such  a  crime  intentionally?"  She 
leaned  her  head  on  her  hand,  sitting  there  where 
Marguerite  had  sat  only  so  short  a  time  before. 

"  Must  it  be  that  you  continue  to  brood  over 
this.?" 

"  Mr.  Marshall,  tell  me  truly.  Would  you  —  but 
I  will  not  ask.  I  know  you  would  not,  and  yet 
would  not  like  to  tell  me  so." 

"Please  ask  me."  He  stood  leaning  against  the 
pillar  and  looking  down  at  her. 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you  if  you  would  have  done 
what  I  did,  but  I  know  well  enough  you  would 
not." 


A  Girl's  Way  225 

"Why  should  you  give  me  less  credit  for  bein 
merciful  ?  "  he  laughed. 

"  You  would  have  been  far  more  merciful,  be- 
cause wiser.  You  would  have  taken  immediate 
steps  toward  the  capture  of  that  wretch,  who  was 
the  cause  of  all  the  trouble." 

"  Ah,  there  is  where  you  mistake.  Believe  me,  he 
was  the  occasion  only,  —  the  cause  lies  far  deeper 
than  either  of  us  can  fathom.  Won't  you  trust  me 
that  you  are  in  no  way  responsible  for  it  ?  " 

In  the  midst  of  his  desire  to  comfort  her  came 
the  thought  of  Marguerite's  suggestion,  that  possi- 
bly Mr.  Russell  might  be  more  to  her  than  he. 

"I  wish  I  might  believe  you,  but  seeing  that 
sight  gives  me  a  sense  of  iniquity  I  cannot  shake  off. 
I  keep  saying,  '  If  I  had  only  done  differently !  '  " 

In  spite  of  Marguerite's  suggestion,  he  congratu- 
lated himself  that  at  last  he  had  her  all  to  himself, 
away  from  her  cares,  in  the  coolness  and  shadow. 
He  took  the  chair  near  hers. 

"If  you  had  done  differently,  as  you  say,  you 
might  have  had  something  else  to  regret  all  your 
life.  You  might  have  given  information,  it  is  true, 
but,  in  my  opinion,  Josephus  would  have  been 
hung  along  with  Pete,  and  you  would  have  felt 
even  more  to  blame,  for  you  would  have  been  the 
direct  cause  of  a  murder." 

Portia  shivered,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  as  she  had  done  that  night. 

"Oh,   don't  let  us  talk  of  it  any  more.      I  am 
afraid  you  are  right.      I  wish  I  could  get  away  from 
this  terrible  place.     That  night  has  taken  all  my 
delight  in  it  away." 
15 


226    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  then-  Heads 

Mrs.  Barry's  laugh  came  out  to  them  in  high 
crescendo.  Mrs.  Clare  and  Mr.  Ridgeway  were 
trying  snatches  of  new  music  together,  and,  among 
the  new  boarders,  a  light-haired  young  man  from 
New  Jersey  seemed  to  be  striking  up  a  lively  ac- 
quaintance with  Miss  Keller.  John  was  leaning 
toward  Portia  in  the  same  attitude  she  had  seen 
him  in  when  he  sat  there  with  Marguerite.  She 
rose  instantly. 

"It  will  not  do  to  stay  out  here;  I  forget  my 
duty  as  hostess,"  she  said,  and  added  hastily, 
"Thank  you.  You  have  helped  me  see  this 
trouble  of  mine  in  another  way." 

John  looked  at  her  helplessly  for  an  instant. 
Going  ?  And  what  had  he  gained  ?  He  took  a  hasty 
step,  and,  catching  her  hand,  drew  her  after  him. 

"Come  away,"  he  said.  "They  are  not  even 
missing  you.  Come  where  you  cannot  hear  the 
sound  of  their  voices.  You  are  far  too  conscien- 
tious. No  wonder  your  pleasure  here  is  gone,  tied 
to  these  people  as  you  are."  He  led  her  with  long 
strides  down  one  of  the  foot-paths.     Portia  laughed. 

"This  is  the  way  I  used  to  run  away  from  my 
nurse,"  she  said.  Other  laughter  reached  them 
from  the  house. 

"There,  you  see  what  a  good  time  they  are  hav- 
ing without  you,"  he  said.  They  looked  back  and 
saw  Mr.  Russell  standing  in  the  doorway,  gazing 
out  into  the  darkness.      Portia  started. 

"Oh,  oh!  I  knew  I  was  neglecting  something." 
She  would  have  returned,  but  he  continued  to  lead 
her  on,  and  she  yielded  with  a  delicious  sense  of 
resting,  if  only  for  a  moment,  in  the  will  of  another. 


A  Girl's  Way  227 


"What  are  you  neglecting?  " 

"  I  promised  to  play  backgammon  with  Mr. 
Russell." 

"Why  should  he  monopolize  you  away  from  all 
the  rest?     Let  him  play  with  Mrs.   Keller." 

"I  wish  he  would."  She  spoke  with  an  uncon- 
scious sigh. 

"Why  shouldn't  he?"  said  John,  between  his 
teeth. 

"  I  must  treat  all  my  guests  with  equal  courtesy, 
you  know.  I  played  with  Mr.  Betts  last  evening, 
and  promised  this  to  him.      I  must  go." 

"So  they  vie  with  each  other  for  your  time?  I 
would  do  the  same  were  I  as  fortunate  as  they.  I 
will,  as  it  is.  Come,  let  me  steal  five  minutes 
only  of  Mr.  Russell's  time.  I  used  to  play  hide- 
and-go-seek  among  these  trees,  but  I  never 
dreamed,  then,  of  playing  it  quite  in  this  way, 
with  an  old  man."  Portia  laughed  merrily.  "If 
you  laugh  like  that,  he  will  hear  you  and  find  you. 
Confess.  Don't  you  like  walking  out  here  in  the 
cool  air  better  than  being  cooped  up  in  the  house 
with  him,   playing  backgammon?" 

"Ah,  but  my  life  is  not  one  of  doing  as  I  would 
exactly,  although,"  she  added  quickly,  "it  is  one 
of  my  own  choosing,  for  the  present,  at  least." 

"And  if  you  could  do  just  as  you  choose,  what 
would  you   do  ?  " 

She  laughed  again.  The  quick  walk  sent  the 
blood  bounding  from  her  heart,  and  woke  in  her 
the  merry  mood.  "  Oh,  it  would  take  far  more 
than  your  five  minutes  to  tell  a  small  part  of  all  I 
would  do." 


2  28    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"Take  it,  then.  I  have  no  conscience.  Give  it 
to  me." 

"No,  no,  no.      I  must  go  back." 

"Tell  me,  first,  will  you  ride  Brown  Betty .<*  I 
have  sent  her  to  the  stables  with  instructions  to 
Alexander."  She  was  silent,  and  he  urged  again, 
"  You  only  half  consented  this  afternoon.  Ride 
her  every  day,  and  forget  your  numerous  oughts." 

"You  do  this  only  to  give  me  pleasure.  What 
can  I  do  .-*  I  dare  not  say  '  no, '  and  I  dare  not  say 
'  yes. '     Don't  you  know  —  " 

"I  only  know  what  my  wishes  are.  You  like  to 
give  pleasure  to  others;  won't  you  give  this  to  me.-* 
Let  me  have  my  way.  I  shall  be  having  my  pleas- 
ure out  of  the  horse,  if  you  will  let  me  go  with  you 
sometimes,  as  I  could  get  it  in  no  other  way." 

"I  can't  call  her  mine,  as  you  said." 

"  But  you  must.  I  will  relieve  you  of  all  care 
in  the  matter.  She  must  be  yours  for  six  months. 
You  must  have  the  independence  that  possession 
alone  will  give  you.  Truly,"  he  added  gravely, 
"  I  am  asking  a  great  privilege.  It  is  my  only  way 
of  claiming,  sometimes,  your  companionship,  away 
from  all  these  others.  I  promise  you  I  will  only 
do  so  by  your  leave,  now  and  then,  Miss  Van 
Ostade." 

"  Please  do  not  think  me  ungracious.  Perhaps 
my  pride  is  too  great ;  but,  really,  it  is  too  much 
to  accept."  She  felt  the  hurt  she  was  giving  him, 
and  relented.  "  To-morrow  morning  I  will  ride 
her  as  you  wish,  Mr.  Marshall.  I  will  go  before 
any  one  is  up.  That  is  my  time  for  running  away 
from    people.      I  will    be  gloriously  happy  among 


» 


A  Girl's  Way  229 

these  hills  before  any  one  else  knows  day  has 
begun.  I  won't  try  to  thank  you  any  more  because 
I  cannot." 

"  Now  I  must  be  satisfied,  and  leave  you  to  your 
partner  for  backgammon.  But  tell  me  first,  you 
did  not  find  my  little  mother  so  very  formidable, 
did  you  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  ?  She  is  so  frail.  I  only  hope 
she  may  be  happy  here.  You  have  helped  me  to 
forget  some  of  the  discomfort  I  was  feeling.  Your 
cousin  has  charmed  me  and  you  have  talked  and 
walked  me  out  of  half  my  horrible  misgivings,  — 
I  have  been  unhappy  since  that  night,  —  and  to- 
morrow morning  I  will  ride  off  the  other  half  if  I 


:an. 


"If  you  can  .''     You  must.     Good-night." 

"Good-night." 

They  parted,  and  John  walked  off  into  the  dark- 
ness, as  Hanford  Clark  had  done  a  few  minutes 
earlier,  but  with  tingling  nerves  and  bounding 
heart. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 
SPECIAL   PLEADING 

HI  dar,  yo'  Andy,  wha'  yo'  duin'  wiv  dat  boss? 
Dat  ar  bery  partic'lar.  Mist'  Jobn  done 
tor  me  don'  'low  none  o'  yo'  tecb  'im." 

"Ob,  yo'  g'long.      I  jes'  slickin'  ber  daoun." 

"  I  knows  yo'  boy.  Yo'  gwine  teacb  ber  trickses. 
Boy  ain'  no  good.      Dey  's  all  bad." 

*'  Miz  Po'tia  say  sbe  wan'  de  boss  dis-yer  mawnin' 
rigbt  smabt. " 

"Yo'  kyan'  tell  me  nuffin',  boy.  Yo'  t'ink  Miz 
Po'tia  gwine  give  o'dahs  tu  fool  boy  like  yo'  is.? 
G'long  yandab  'n'  tote  beab  nudder  bucket  o'  co'n 
feed  'n'  clean  de  boss  sbed."  Tbus  Alexander 
sputtered  in  tbe  importance  of  bis  newly-acquired 
old  dignity. 

"I  sball  expect  you  to  do  everytbing  as  well  and 
carefully  as  you  used  to  for  your  old  master,  Alex- 
ander," Portia  bad  said.  "And  you  will  teacb 
Andrew  to  take  care  of  tbe  stables  and  keep  tbings 
in  order,  will  you  not.-*  " 

"I  will  dat,  ma'm,  yas  'm.     I  reckon  I  kin  teach 

Andy,    yas'm."     He    puckered    bis    wrinkled    face 

and  looked  at  Andy,  who  was  setting  onions  in  a 

corner  of  tbe  patcb  Mr.  Ridgeway  bad  devoted  to 

tbe  purposes  of  kitcben  garden,  in  a  doubtful  way. 

"Yas'm,  Andy  a  dre'fle  or'nary  nigger,  but  I  'low 

I  kin  Tarn  'imV' 

230 


special  Pleading  231 

Thus  was  Alexander  installed  as  commander-in- 
chief  of  the  stables,  quite  to  Portia's  satisfaction, 
and  more  so  to  his  own.  *  Indeed,  had  she  been 
unable  to  find  a  coachman  trained  under  the  old 
regime,  she  would  have  been  put  to  endless  trouble 
and  expense;  since  the  younger  generation,  com- 
ing up  without  the  restrictions  of  the  old  days, 
were  the  most  irresponsible  of  all  human  creatures. 
The  old  man  was  always  to  be  seen  at  break 
of  day,  pottering  around  the  stables,  muttering  to 
himself,  or  scolding  Andrew,  or  —  if  his  young 
mistress  appeared  on  the  scene  —  ready  with  a 
plentiful  supply  of  blarney,  and  much  genuine  cour- 
tesy, to  anticipate  her  wishes,  if  they  coincided 
with  his  own,  or  to  skilfully  evade  them  if  they 
did  not. 

Portia  stood  upon  the  horse-block,  slowly  draw- 
ing on  her  gloves,  and  watching  the  light  creep 
down  the  mountain  side,  touching  the  tops  of  dark, 
clustering  pines,  and  revealing  hidden  ravines  and 
far-off  precipices.  The  old  man  spied  her,  and 
snatching  off  his  tattered  hat,  started  toward  her 
with  a  shuffling  trot  of  ostentatious  haste,  leading 
the  beautiful  little  brown  mare. 

Portia  took  a  lump  of  sugar  from  her  pocket,  and 
coaxed  and  petted  her,  putting  her  arms  around  the 
gentle  creature's  neck,  and  would  have  kissed  her 
sleek  coat,  had  not  Alexander  been  watching. 

"Dey  ain'  no  boss  nebber  been  in  dis-yer  No'th 
C'liny  shine  like  she  shine  sence  ol'  Mars  daid," 
he  said,  with  pride.  "Mist'  John  say,  'Alexandah, 
min'  yo'  don'  'low  no  fool  boy  tech  her.  Dat  ah 
Miss  Po'tia's  boss,'  he  say,  'an'  min'  yo'  keep  'er 


232    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

like  she  b'long  tu  de  mos'  fines'  lady  ebber  lib  in 
dis  yearth. '     He  say  —  " 

"That  's  right,  Alexander,  you  have  done  well, 
indeed  you  have,"  cried  Portia,  springing  to  her 
seat  in  the  saddle.  She  gathered  up  the  reins,  and 
was  off  like  a  shot,  past  the  clump  of  dogwood- 
trees  where  she  had  sat  that  morning  and  thought 
herself  alone. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  did  see  me  racing  down  the 
road,  and  where  he  was !  "  Then  she  began  wonder- 
ing other  things  about  him,  and  what  she  ought  to 
do  about  the  horse.  Should  she  accept  so  great  a 
favor.?  Could  she.-*  *'I  can't  exactly  refuse  to  ride 
this  little  darling."  She  sighed.  "What  is  the 
use  of  fretting!  I  will  be  happy  for  this  one  morn- 
ing, no  matter  what  comes ;  "  and  she  was. 

A  low  bank  of  cloud,  presaging  a  warm  day, 
hung  in  the  east,  and  the  sun  was  slow  in  climbing 
above  it.  She  turned  in  the  direction  of  Mammy 
Clarissa's  cabin,  ascending,  slowly,  the  steep  hill 
at  the  foot  of  which  was  the  brawling  stream  with 
the  hewn  log  for  a  foot  bridge.  Scarcely  a  breath 
of  air  stirred  the  leaves  overhead.  A  bird-note 
now  and  again  broke  the  stillness  with  a  sleepy, 
half  awake  twitter.  Her  horse's  feet  made  a 
rhythmic  clatter  on  the  hard  road-bed,  and  the 
rushing  stream  far  down  the  long  sweep  of  shaded 
hillside  seemed  an  accompaniment,  —  a  sweet,  in- 
sistent, harmonizing  note  like  a  gentle  undercur- 
rent to  her  happy  thoughts. 

Her  anxieties  slipped  away  from  her  one  by  one, 
and  she  fell  into  a  revery  of  sweet  thoughts,  fit- 
ting well  with  the  charm  of  the  morning  and  the 


special  Pleading  233 

subtle  beauty  of  earth  and  sky,  and  the  trees  and 
hills,  and  all  the  happy,  contented  things  around 
her. 

Clusters  of  shrubs  that  had  not  yet  lost  their 
bloom  filled  the  air  with  fragrance.  She  spied  a 
squirrel  in  a  mighty  chestnut-tree  perhaps  reckon- 
ing on  its  future  crop.  Sometimes  the  stillness 
seemed  intense,  then  would  begin  many  little 
noises,  —  soft  bird-calls,  dropping  twigs,  or  a  light 
breeze  making  rustlings  and  whisperings  over  her 
head. 

Once  it  seemed  to  her  that  a  bit  of  one  of  her 
own  songs  floated  up  to  her  in  a  merry  whistle  from 
the  stream  below.  Could  it  be  —  but  no.  It  must 
be  some  negro  boy  gathering  "light-'ud"  on  the 
hillside.  While  the  little  horse  took  her  own 
time,  stopping  now  and  then  to  crop  a  bit  of  leaf- 
age, Portia  let  her  mind  dwell  on  the  events  of  the 
evening  before.  She  saw  her  sheet  of  music  being 
rolled  up  and  carried  away,  and  felt  his  face  near 
hers  as  it  had  been  that  one  moment ;  then  she  saw 
him  seated,  looking  into  Marguerite's  eyes,  and 
then  she  felt  herself  being  drawn  down  the  garden 
paths,  and  the  touch  of  his  hand  as  he  bade  her 
good-night,  and  wondered  if  it  was  Marguerite, 
after  all,  who  filled  his  thoughts;  and  as  she  won- 
dered, the  creeping  sensation  of  pleasure  came 
stealing  through  her  whole  being;  but  she  put  it 
from  her  as  soon  as  she  felt  its  growing  power,  or 
tried  to  do  so.  "  Of  course  he  loves  that  beautiful 
girl ;  how  could  he  help  it }  —  And  yet,  —  "  and 
again  that  sweetest  of  all  sensations  came  creeping 
from  her  heart  to  her  finger-tips. 


2  34    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Clatter,  clatter,  clatter,  sounded  the  fall  of  her 
horse's  hoofs,  and  louder  grew  the  noise  of  the 
rushing  water  as  she  neared  the  stream. 

"  Ah,  ha !  A  brown  study,  or  a  rosy  study  ?  So 
this  is  the  way  she  comes  lagging  down  the  hill, 
the  lazy  little  horse.  I  was  beginning  to  think 
you  had  lost  your  way." 

Portia's  face  flamed  crimson.  Ah,  the  betrayal 
of  her  thoughts!  She  stooped  and  patted  Brown 
Betty's  neck  to  hide  her  face  for  very  shame,  and, 
turning  her  head,  looked  down  the  stream. 

"  You  did  not  know  we  were  coming  this  way,  — 
Brown  Betty  and  I,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh. 

John  sprang  from  the  log  where  he  had  been  sit- 
ting, and  walked  toward  her.  His  horse  whinnied 
from  the  clump  of  alder  bushes  where  he  had  tied 
him,  and  stepped  restlessly  about.  "Still,  Clyde," 
he  said  sternly.  "Didn't  I  know  you  would  be 
bent  on  an  errand  of  mercy  .'*" 

Portia's  happy  thoughts  had  left  their  impress 
on  her  face,  and  part  of  its  charm  lay  in  the  fact 
that  she  was  unconscious  of  its  transparency.  Her 
eyes  glowed  with  a  light  that  was  not  from  without 
her  heart. 

"This  for  your  thoughts,"  he  said,  holding  a 
penny  on  his  palm.  She  leaned  over,  and  giving 
the  back  of  his  hand  a  light  tap,  sent  the  penny  fly- 
ing over  his  head. 

"There  it  goes,  thoughts  and  all,"  she  cried. 
"You  may  have  them  if  you  can  catch  them." 

He  stood  a  moment,  petting  Brown  Betty's  neck, 
and  watching  her  face. 

"  What  a  noisy  stream  !  "  she  said. 


special  Pleading  235 

"What  was  the  rosy-brown  study  about?     I  have 
a  reason  for  asking  " 


b 


"  I  did  not  know  you  were  here. 

*'  Of  course  not !  so  you  were  happy  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  I  would  be  gloriously  happy,  riding 
over  these  hills,  and  forgetting  everything.  You 
see  my  thoughts  were  only  forgettings,  not  worth  a 
penny." 

**  Everything,  —  had  you  forgotten  ?  " 

"Every  unpleasant  thing."  He  still  looked  in 
her  face,  and  she  turned  away  again,  and  gazed  into 
the  stream,  as  before. 

*' I  came  here  on  purpose  to  see  you,  — alone." 
He  spoke  in  a  tense  way,  and  she  paled  a  little, 
but  said  nothing.  "  I  even  prayed,  —  if  wishing 
with  my  heart  in  heaven  that  you  might  come  this  ^ 
way  may  be  called  praying,  because  —  I  had  a 
fright  last  evening." 

She  raised  her  hand  to  her  throat  and  grew  still 
paler.  "  Oh,  this  awful  country !  What  has  hap- 
pened now.?  Everything  seemed  so  beautiful  a 
moment  ago."  She  glanced  behind  her  nervously. 
"  Have  those  men  turned  against  you  ?  " 

"You  beautiful,  brave  girl,  are  you  afraid.''" 
He  came  a  step  nearer,  and  took  hold  of  her  wrist. 
He  could  feel  the  tremor  even  through  her  riding 
glove.  "  Not  for  yourself,  I  know,  for  I  have  seen 
you  brave.  No,  this  is  worse  than  any  mere  physi- 
cal danger  to  me.  This  might  ruin  my  whole  life. 
My  little  cousin  last  night  told  me  what  I,  with 
my  man's  blindness,  never  thought  of  fearing.  I 
never  thousrht  to  look  for  it,  because  love  is  blind." 
He  still  felt  her  wrist  quiver  in  his  grasp,  and  took 


236    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

her  hand  in  both  his  own.  "Yes,  let  me  tell  you, 
—  let  me  tell  it  all.  I  have  the  most  right,  for  I 
am  young  and  he  is  old.  I,  too,  love  you.  Do 
not  take  your  hand  from  me  until  you  hear  me 
through.  I  was  not  going  to  tell  you  this  until  I 
had  earned  the  right.  I  was  going  to  wait  and  win 
you;  but  now,  I  dare  not  wait  lest  some  one  snatch 
you  from  me.  What  if  he  loves  you  ?  I  do  not 
care,  I  love  you  more.  I  am  rash  and  headstrong, 
but  I  will  do  my  wooing  afterwards.  All  my  life  I 
will  be  your  lover."  He  spoke  rapidly,  impetu- 
ously. His  own  hands  trembled  now,  and  he 
reached  for  both  of  hers. 

Her  lips  quivered,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
"No,  no.  Wait."  She  took  her  hands  from  his 
grasp.      "I  can't  think." 

"Will  he  wait,?  It  is  life  to  me.  Must  I  lose 
all,  who  love  you  best.?  Has  he  all  the  right  to 
speak  and   I   none,    because  he  has  had  time   for 


wooing 


?  " 


"  How  could  Miss  McLourie  —  " 

"  How  could  she  know  so  soon  ?  A  woman 
divines.  I  am  a  man, — a  blind  lover  who  sits 
and  waits." 

Portia's  heart  seemed  choking  her.  She  tried  to 
speak,  but  her  lips  only  moved. 

"What  right  has  he  above  me.?"  he  went  on, 
savagely. 

"Oh,  do  not,"  she  said,  at  last.  "He  is  only  a 
kindly,  sweet-tempered  old  man,  and  not  so  old  but 
that  he  has  the  right  to  feel  young. " 

"Yes,  and  to  love  you." 

The  crimson   flamed  again   to  the  roots  of  her 


Special  Pleading  237 

hair,  and  her  breast  heaved.  **  I  have  given  him 
no  encouragement  to  do  so,  nor  —  "  she  stopped 
abruptly. 

"Nor  to  me.?" 

"I  was  not  going  to  say  that." 

"  Forgive  me.  I  am  daring  all  for  fear  of  losing 
all.  What  can  I  say  to  you.''  How  can  I  make 
you  know  how  I  love  you?  Do  you  care.-*  Out 
there  in  the  darkness,  alone,  listening  to  you  sing, 
I  loved  you  before  ever  I  saw  you.  I  knew  the  face 
that  went  with  the  voice  would  be  like  yours,  and 
when  I  saw  it  I  loved  it.  Let  me  try  to  win  you." 
Still  she  could  not  speak ;  her  mouth  and  throat 
were  dry.  "That  is  all  I  ask  now,  only  to  try  to 
win  you."  He  held  out  his  hands  to  her  once 
more,  then  let  them  drop  by  his  side.  He  trembled 
to  lift  her  down  and  hold  her  in  his  arms,  but  stood 
still  and  waited.  She  unbuttoned  and  buttoned 
her  gloves  nervously,  then  drew  them  off  and  put 
them  on  again. 

"There  is  much  I  wish  to  say,"  she  said  at  last, 
"before  I  even  tell  you  that." 

The  reins  dropped  down  on  Betty's  neck,  and 
she  improved  the  opportunity  to  crop  some  long 
tufts  of  grass.  Portia  pulled  off  her  gloves  again, 
straightening  out  the  fingers,  one  by  one.  At  last, 
with  glistening  eyes  she  looked  in  his.  He  could 
not  stand  that  pathetic  look,  and  sprang  to  lift  her 
down ;  but  she  placed  her  two  hands  on  his  shoul- 
ders, and  gently  pushed  him  back. 

"Wait  until  I  can  speak  of  this  rightly.  Oh, 
can't  you  see.-^  It  is  my  heart  against  my  con- 
science."    He  threw  her  gloves  on  the  bank,  and, 


238    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

taking  her  bare  hands  in  his,  kissed  them.     "Don't 
make  it  hard  for  me,"  she  pleaded. 

"I  will,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "I  will  make 
it  impossible  for  you  to  say  what  you  are  trying  to 
say  if  I  can.  First  of  all,  tell  me,  have  you  given 
some  one  else  — •  " 

"No,  no,  that  isn't  it.  Give  me  time  to  tell 
you."  She  struggled  to  gain  possession  of  her 
hands.  He  let  them  go,  and,  suddenly  reaching 
up,  took  her  down  from  the  saddle  in  his  arms. 

"If  you  will  not  let  me  have  your  hands  I  will 
have  you.  If  there  is  no  one  before  me  I  will  win 
you.  I  will  be  your  lover,  forever,  do  you  hear.!* 
No  one  shall  take  you  from  me.  Portia,  look  up. 
Once  ?  Let  me.  There !  Once  more.  Now,  see  ? 
You  are  mine." 

"  Oh,  not  yet,  not  yet.  Let  me  talk  a  little  and 
you  will  see  why." 

"Once  more,  on  your  lips.     See.-*  I  am  waiting." 

"But  not  so.  Take  your  arms  away  first.  I 
must  talk  now,  it  is  my  right."  Her  eyes  flashed 
into  his,  yet  she  trembled.  He  led  her  to  the 
great  stump  where  she  and  her  grandfather  had 
passed  Josephus  and  Gabriella  that  winter  day, 
—  ages  ago  it  seemed  to  her  now.  She  felt 
weak,  and  leaned  against  the  log  that  spanned  the 
stream. 

John  tied  Brown  Betty  to  a  sapling,  and,  return- 
ing, sat  down  beside  her.  Neither  of  them  spoke. 
She  looked  away  from  him,  gazing  into  the  tum- 
bling water,  as  before.  At  last  he  reached  out  to 
her,  but  she  put  his  hand  back,  holding  it  from  her 
with  gentle  touch. 


Special  Pleading  239 

"Now  you  must  listen  to  me.  Think  a  moment 
how  short  a  time  you  have  known  me." 

"  Every  week  has  been  a  year,  because  I  dared 
not  tell  you  I  was  loving  you." 

"  But  is  it  right  for  you  to  expect  me  —  " 

"No.  I  ask  only  that  I  may  love  you,  — that  I 
may  be  your  lover." 

"Ah,  but  that  is  everything." 

"I  tell  you  I  will  do  all  that  other  lovers  do 
afterward.  All  the  happiness  of  my  life  is  staked 
on  this  one  hour." 

"  You  must  not  say,  nor  think  that.  There  are 
reasons.  Mother  and  grandfather  are  dependent 
on  me. "  She  spread  out  her  hands  —  those  help- 
ful hands  —  in  a  hopeless  way.  "  Is  not  that 
enough  ?  I  told  you  the  battle  was  with  my  own 
heart,  — you  must  not  make  it  hard  for  me."  She 
bit  her  lip,  as  if  she  would  put  back  her  feelings 
as  she  had  put  back  his  hands.  "What  have 
I  done,  what  have  I  said  that  you  should  love 
me.?" 

"  It  is  all  that  you  do  or  say  to  every  one  every- 
where. We  cannot  help  it,  you  nor  I.  It  is  my 
heart  that  will  not  be  satisfied  without  its  love  for 
you.  What  you  say  is  nothing.  If  they  are  de- 
pendent on  you,  they  must  be  on  me.  If  they  are 
yours,  they  must  be  mine.  Your  heart  must  speak 
to  me,  nothing  else." 

"Oh,  can't  you  understand.?"  She  turned  on 
him  and  spoke  impetuously,  as  if  her  words  would 
not  be  restrained.  "  It  will  sweep  everything 
before  it.  How  can  I  keep  strong,  doing  my  duty 
every  day,  as  if  it  were  my  first  pleasure,  if  I  give 


240    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

way  to  my  —  to  this?  I  never  dreamed  of  this 
coming  upon  me  away  off  here.  I  have  work  to 
do,  and  must  do  it.  Oh,  why  have  you  come  ?  I 
have  no  business  to  listen  to  you  —  I  had  no  busi- 
ness to  listen  to  you  last  night,  nor  to  ride  your 
horse,  nor  to  let  go  my  hold  on  myself  even  for  a 
moment.  My  burdens  are  precious  to  me,  —  to 
you  they  might  become  burdens  indeed.  I  must 
carry  them  myself." 

"No,  you  must  let  me  help  you.  It  is  my  right, 
by  reason  of  my  love." 

She  rose  and  held  out  her  hands  to  him.  "  For- 
give me,  and  let  me  go.  This  is  only  a  sudden 
thing  with  you,  —  it  will  pass  as  quickly  as  it  has 
come.  Give  up  your  love  now,  before  it  goes  any 
farther.  For  you  there  may  be  another,  some- 
where, some  time;  for  me  only  it  is  hard.  For  me 
so  precious  a  thing  as  your  love  can  never  come 
again.  — Don't  speak  yet.  —  I  must  put  it  from  me, 
and  they  neither  of  them  must  know  what  I  have 
done.  Promise  me  — "  she  faltered,  then  went 
bravely  on  —  "promise  me  that  you  will  put  me  out 
of  your  heart,  and  be  happy  some  day  without  me. 
It  is  the  only  thing  you  can  do,  and  this  love  will 
pass  sooner  than  you  think  possible." 

"  Portia,  this  is  madness.  Put  you  out  of  my 
heart  .-^  My  own  .-^  I  will  not.  Come  here,  little 
Puritan,  you  love  me.  Out  of  your  lips  I  take  the 
words.  When  I  have  kissed  you  like  this,  even 
though  they  are  stolen  kisses,  are  you  not  mine, 
forever.?  I  have  your  love,  and  that  is  enough,  — 
I  take  everything  else.  If  you  have  a  care,  it  is 
mine.     Why,  darling,  I  have  enough;  all  we  need 


Special  Pleading  241 

for  us  all.      Shall  I  let  you  go  on  as  you  are  doing? 
It  is  cruel." 

Portia  felt  the  earth  swaying  under  her  feet.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  stream  had  risen  and  was  sweep- 
ing her  along  in  its  rushing  waters.  It  was  only 
for  a  moment.  When  she  opened  her  eyes  they 
looked  into  the  eyes  of  her  lover,  and  she  knew  she 
must  give  him  all  he  asked. 

"This  is  unreal,  it  is  not  right.  Why  am  I 
standing  here,  forgetting  everything?  My  whole 
hour  is  gone." 

"  It  is  most  real  and  right.  This  one  moment, 
in  which  you  give  yourself  to  me,  is  worth  living 
my  whole  life  for." 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  dreaming,  and  must  be 
wakened.  Let  us  ride.  You  should  have  listened 
to  me.  I  told  you  my  love  was  stronger  than  my 
conscience,  that  it  would  sweep  all  before  it;  and 
now  see  what  I  have  done.  I  have  yielded  when  I 
ought  not."  Awed  by  his  impetuous  onslaught,  she 
lifted  her  face  to  his  in  conscience-smitten  entreaty. 

"My  beautiful,  did  you  think  yourself  hidden  in 
this  wilderness,  where  even  love  could  not  find  you  ? 
Why  should  you  wish  that  ?  I  sought  for  my  girl  of 
the  German  bridge  and  found  her  here.  You  could 
no  more  keep  me  from  loving  you  than  you  could 
keep  the  water  from  dashing  over  those  rocks." 

"  Because  of  them.  It  was  hard  enough  for 
grandfather  to  become  dependent  in  his  old  age, 
—  a  thing  he  never  supposed  could  happen  to  him  ; 
it  crushed  him  to  earth.  If  the  duty  should  be 
placed  on  any  one  else  it  would  kill  him." 

"We  will  ride,  and  talk  it  over  calmly." 
16 


242    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"What  have  I  done  with  my  gloves? "  she  said. 

John  picked  them  up  from  v^here  he  had  thrown 
them,  and  led  Brown  Betty  to  her  side. 

"Now,  put  your  hand  in  mine,  so  "  —  he  stooped 
and  looked  once  more  into  her  eyes  —  "and  call 
me  by  my  homely  old  name.  Say,  *  John,  I  love 
you.'"  Her  hand  trembled  in  his,  and  her  voice 
faltered  as  she  repeated  the  words  after  him.  Then 
she  drew  back  and  looked  at  him.  Suddenly  her 
pride  gave  way.  She  threw  her  arms  round  his 
neck  and  hid  her  face  in  his  bosom. 

"  Oh,  I  do,  I  do.  Only  it  is  hard,  so  hard.  I 
wish  I  had  everything  and  you  had  nothing.  If 
only  I  could  give  you  everything,  I  would  be 
happy;    but  now  —  " 

"But  now  —  shall  I  finish  for  you?  It  is  I  who 
am  to  be  happy.  Is  it  a  little  thing  you  have 
given  me?  "  He  lifted  her  and  swung  her  lightly 
into  the  saddle,  and  stood  a  moment  by  her  side. 
"Do  you  think  I  value  a  woman's  love  so  little? 
Why,  Portia,  I  am  the  greatest  beggar  on  earth, 
and  have  asked  for  the  sweetest  thing,  that  is  all. 
I  am  humbled  in  the  dust  when  I  think  what  I 
have  had  the  temerity  to  ask  for." 

There  is  no  face  so  beautiful  but  that  it  grows 
more  so  with  the  light  that  shines  through  its 
windows,  when  the  heart  has  opened  its  doors  and 
taken  in  the  little  blind  and  winged  beggar,  Love. 
Portia's  face  glowed  with  this  light  as  she  bent 
down  toward  her  lover  at  that  moment,  and  touched 
his  brow  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  and  felt  the 
clustering  rings  of  his  hair  close  round  them  as  she 
lifted  it  from  his  forehead. 


Special  Pleading  243 

"Are  you?"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "You 
don't  look  so." 

"No.  The  touch  of  your  hands  makes  me  a 
king." 

.  Then  she  stooped  and  kissed  the  smooth,  broad 
forehead  she  had  laid  bare.  "  You  must  get  your 
horse,  John ;  we  will  go.      I  have  work  to  do." 

He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips.  "Your  lover 
forever,"  he  said,  and  did  as  she  bade  him. 

Slowly  their  horses  splashed  through  the  ford, 
stepping  cautiously  over  slippery  boulders,  and 
scrambling  up  the  other  side.  Portia  felt  her  hap- 
piness quivering  through  her  whole  frame,  to  her 
finger-tips,  yet  her  heart  was  full  of  misgivings. 
John,  on  the  contrary,  glancing  from  time  to  time 
into  her  beautiful  face,  with  its  heightened  color, 
was  satisfied.     He  had  won  the  day. 

"Another  rosy-brown  study?  What  is  it  this 
time?" 

She  took  a  deep  breath.  "The  world  seems 
different  from  what  it  did  this  morning.  It  was 
beautiful  then,  too,  but  now  —  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
been  living  an  age  since  an  hour  ago,  or  were  not 
myself.  I  am  so  happy,  and  yet  I  feel  afraid.  How 
can  it  last !     Let  us  try  to  talk  rationally,  and  —  " 

"We  never  talked  more  so.  I  have  done  the 
most  rational  thing  of  my  life." 

"  Now  you  make  me  laugh  at  you.  No,  let  us 
talk  good  common  sense.  I  see  a  great  many  diffi- 
culties in  the  way." 

"Ah,  but  I  don't  call  that  common  sense." 

"  In  the  first  place,  everything  must  go  on  just  as 
if  —  as  if  —  " 


244  When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  How  can  everything  go  on  just  as  if?  " 

**  Oh,  John,  you  know  as  well  as  I  that  your 
mother  would  be  horrified  if  she  thought  you  loved 
me,  and  that  beautiful  little  lady,  your  cousin  —  " 

"She  is  only  a  distant  relative  of  my  mother's," 
he  said,  evading  the  first  part  of  her  remark. 

"  Oh,  why  have  you  done  this  ?  Why  could  you 
not  have  fallen  in  love  with  her?  Your  mother 
could  never  have  been  able  to  object  to  that,  and 
here  you  have  done  what  will  surely  make  her 
miserable." 

"You  said  you  wished  to  talk  common  sense. 
If  you  cannot  do  better  than  that  let  me  try." 

"Be  patient  with  me.  I  want  a  little  time  to 
win  your  mother's  love,  if  I  can,  lest  this  should 
break  her  heart.  John,  promise  me  that.  A 
boarding-house  is  such  a  terribly  public  kind  of 
place,  where  every  one  is  held  up  for  inspection,  as 
in  a  tribunal. " 

"Trust  me.  If  I  can't  look  at  you  without 
showing  my  love  for  you,  I  will  keep  my  eyes  shut 
in  your  presence,  and  if  they  ask  the  reason  I  will 
say  the  light  is  too  —  " 

"Please,  please  don't  laugh." 

"Whatever  you  wish  I  will  consent  to;  but, 
Portia,  I  will  take  you  away  from  all  of  them  once 
in  a  while.  You  shall  not  be  more  theirs  than 
mine.  Moreover,  this  slavery  of  yours  shall  not 
go  on  forever." 

"Oh,  where  are  we  going?  See  how  high  the 
sun  is."  She  started  to  turn  her  horse's  head,  but 
he  detained  her. 

"It    is    not    so    late,   only  seven;    go  on   to  old 


special  Pleading  245 

mammy's  first.  You  were  going  there.  Your  lazy 
boarders  are  just  turning  over  for  another  nap. 
Was  that  a  sigh?     Give  me  a  reason  for  it." 

"It  makes  me  a  little  sad  to  see  you  so  happy. 
I  can't  tell  why,  but  I  fear  so  much.  What  good 
is  my  love  to  you  ?  Everything  must  go  on  the 
same,  and  it  will  make  you  miserable.  I  would 
have  saved  you  from  this  if  I  could.  If  I  could 
only  have  known  —  but  then  —  that  would  have 
been  impossible.  A  woman  dare  never  allow  her- 
self to  think  that  a  man  is  possibly  going  to  love 
her.  She  can  never  forestall,  because  she  must 
never  know  until  it  is  too  late." 

"Thank  Heaven.  I  shall  make  you  say  the  little 
lesson  over  and  over  every  day  until  I  have  my 
way.  It  is  a  good  way.  Tell  me,  is  it  not.?" 
They  were  approaching  the  little  clearing.  "Tell 
me,  is  it  a  good  way.?  " 

"  I  know  to  me  your  way  will  be  a  very  sweet 
way.  I  will  love  to  make  it  mine  forever;  but  for 
the  present  I  must  do  my  own  way,  even  if  it  may 
be  hard  for  us  both." 

He  lifted  her  from  the  saddle  as  she  spoke. 
"Oh,  John,  you  must  not  kiss  me  any  more  in  this 
way,  not  until  I  can  be  your  very  own,  and  that 
may  not  be  for  a  very  long  —     Oh,   John !  " 

"  I  will  see  your  grandfather,  and  tell  him  I  love 
you.     You  are  mine  now,  Portia;  say  you  are." 

"I  can't  say  that  yet,  and  you  must  say  nothing 
to  grandfather.  I  am  not  free  to  say  anything  yet 
but  that  I  love  you.  I  am  not  free  to  say  I  am 
yours.  I  have  my  work  to  do ;  and  John,  is  it  so 
hard?     You  must  wait." 


246   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Not  so  hard  now  as  it  was,  sweetheart,  now 
that  I  know  you  are  not  to  be  snatched  from  me. 
I  can  wait,  but  I  will  be  your  lover.  Now  that  is 
the  way  I  want  your  eyes  to  shine,  for  me  and  no 
one  else.  Look  at  me  again  like  that.  I  am  afraid 
no  longer.  You  may  play  backgammon  with  your 
elderly  boarder  or  ride  with  your  handsomest  one 
and  sing  to  them  all ;  but  for  me,  I  will  remember 
how  you  sang  for  me  last  evening,  before  my 
mother  came,  and  how  you  looked  at  me  just  now, 
and  "no  one  of  them  all  will  carry  so  light  a  heart 
as  I.  Now_one  more  kis§..and  I  will  let  you  go  to 
have  your  own  way,  sweet. " 


CHAPTER   XIX 
MAMMY   CL'ISSY'S    BURYII^'    CLO'ES 

EVERYTHING  was  quiet  about  the  little  cabin. 
Ill  one  corner  of  the  small  enclosed  space 
stood  two  mules  with  their  necks  crossed  and  their 
ears  lopped  forward.  On  the  rail  fence  near  them, 
basking  in  the  sun,  sat  tlie  boy  whose  business  it 
was  to  take  care  of  Josephus,  with  much  the  same 
expression  of  sleepy  contentment  on  his  face,  and 
not  far  from  him,  perched  on  the  same  rail,  and 
watching  him  with  half-closed  eyes,  sat  Mammy 
Clarissa's  cat.  The  sun  shone  aslant  on  the  peace- 
ful scene,  and  cast  elongated  shadows  on  the  bare 
earth  of  the  cabin,  the  mules,  the  boy,  the  cat,  and 
the  rail  fence ;  and  across  the  yard  stretched  the 
immense  shadow  of  a  naked  pine  that  towered 
high  above  the  roof,  waving  at  its  top  a  tuft  of 
green  needles,  like  a  worn  old  brush  for  sweeping 
the  sky. 

**  Poor  Joe's  corn  looks  spindling,  all  choked  with 
weeds,"  said  John.  "  Hello,  Jenks,  how  's  Joe  this 
morning?  " 

"  He  ain*  no  mo*  'n  mid'lin',"  said  the  boy,  sleepily. 

Old  Clarissa  stood  in  the  cabin  with  her  back  to 
the  open  door,  gazing  at  a  curious  motley  of  clothes 
laid  out  on  the  patchwork  cover  of  her  best  bed. 
She  leaned  on  her  stick,  and  her  lips  moved  as  if 
she  were  talking  to  them.     As  the  shadows  of  John 

247 


248    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

and  Portia  darkened  the  doorway,  she  spread  out 
her  hands  as  if  she  would  guard  them  from  in- 
truders' eyes,  but  when  she  saw  who  her  visitors 
were  she  brightened,  and  hobbled  toward  them  with 
elaborate  cordiality. 

"Laws,  honey,  am  dat  yo'?  Howdy,  honey, 
howdy,  Miss  Po'tia.  Hu-come  yo'  heah  dis  time  o' 
day?" 

"  How's  Joe  this  morning  ?"  said  John. 

"Joe's  po'ly.  I  'low  he  ain'  gwine  be  like  he 
uset  tu  no  mo'.  Joe  he  strivin'  in  he's  min'  how  he 
gwine  git  fo'  tu  pay  fo'  turrer  mule.  He  don'  git 
no  peace  fo'  dat  frettin'  an'  strivin'." 

"  Oh,  he  mustn't  fret.  He  '11  come  out  all  right, 
and  pay  for  the  other  mule  too."  John's  voice  was 
cheery  with  his  own  hope  and  gladness.  **  I  '11  go 
up  and  see  him."  He  tossed  his  hat  on  a  chair 
and  began  climbing  the  ladder  leading  to  the  loft 
above. 

Portia  glanced  curiously  at  the  strange  assortment 
of  clothes  on  the  bed.  **  What  are  you  doing, 
mammy,  making  over  some  dresses?" 

"  Naw,  Miss  Po'tia,  dem  ar  's  my  buryin'  clo'es." 

''Your  what?" 

*'  Dem  ar  's  my  buryin'  clo'es,  but  I  'low  de  Lawd 
ain'  nuvvah  gwine  leab  me  wah  dem." 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean.  What  are 
they  for?" 

''  De  clo'es  I  gwine  wah  tu  de  grabe,  chile,  ef  de 
Lawd  take  de  curse  off  an'  'low  me  tu  die." 

**  Why  you  don't  want  to  die  yet, — you  are  not 
so  old.  What  do  you  mean  by  taking  the  curse 
off?  " 


Mammy  CFissy's  Buryin'  Clo'es      249 

'*  Laws,  Miss  Po'tia,  I  kyan'  splain  'bouts  dat. 
Dar's  de  curse  ob  libbiii',  an'  dar  's  de  curse  ob  dyin', 
an'  I  reckon  de  Lawd  done  sot  on  me  de  curse  ob 
libbin'.  I  'low  I  ain'  nuvvah  be  'lowd  tu  vvah  dese 
heah  clo'es,  nohow."  She  held  up  one  of  the 
dresses  made  in  some  strange  and  obsolete  fashion, 
a  thin  pink  lawn,  from  which  the  pattern  had  long 
since  been  washed  away.  '*  I  been  layin'  dese  heah 
by  many  long  yeah.  Dis  'n  Miss  Mann  done  gib 
me.  Dat  time  de  fevah  tuk  me  I  'lowed  I  'd  git  free 
tu  wah  hit,  but  I  did  n'  dat  time.  Den  de  style 
done  change,  an'  I  don*  wan'  be  laid  in  de  grabe  in 
ol'  aout  o'  style  clo'es  nohow.  Den  dis  'n,  Joe  he 
went  up  tu  Asheville,  an'  I  gib  'im  doUah  fo'  git  de 
cloff,  an'  dar  come  'long  lady  f'om  de  No'f  wha' 
done  tole  me  haow  de  style  ah,  all  two-skyrted,  wid 
dis  heah  skyrt  hangin'  ovah  turrer." 

"This  looks  quite  new;  haven't  you  ever  worn 
it?" 

**  Laws,  no,  Miss  Po'tia,  I  ain'  none  o'  yo'  po'  white 
trash  tu  be  buried  in  ol'  aout  o'  style  clo'es,  I  ain'." 

She  began  laying  the  clothes  carefully  in  a  pine 
box,  with  a  cover  fastened  by  a  padlock,  and  hung 
with  leather  hinges,  and  then  shoved  it  in  the  farth- 
est corner  under  the  bed.  As  she  raised  herself 
from  the  floor,  Portia  thought  she  seemed  more 
aged  and  bent  than  when  she  last  saw  her.  She 
apparently  forgot  Portia's  presence  and  continued 
talking  to  herself,  rocking  back  and  forth  In  her 
large  chair,  and  staring  into  the  embers.  **  Wah 
dem  clo'es?  Naw,  I  'low  de  Lawd  ain'  nuvvah  leab 
me  wah  'em.  I  reckon  he  ain'  gwine  'low  me  pass 
nohow.  ^  O  Lawd,  O  Lawd  !  " 


250    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

*'  What  is  it,  Clarissa?  "  said  the  girl  at  last,  com- 
passionately.    **  Why  do  you  talk  so?  " 

**  Why,  honey,  chile,  I  cl'ar  done  fo'got  yo'  heah. 
Is  yo'  had  breakfus'?  I  reckon  yo'  nigh  dyin'  fo' 
a  taste  o'  Cl'issy's  cookin'."  She  seemed  to 
waken  to  her  old  life  and  vivacity  as  the  idea  of 
.  hospitality  seized  her,  and,  uncovering  the  coals, 
she  threw  on  some  pine  knots  and  hung  the  kettle. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Portia,  "  we  are  going  right  away 
as  soon  as  Mr.  Marshall  comes  down.  I  have  more 
linen  for  you  to  mend  when  you  are  ready  for  it." 

*'  Fotch  hit  'long,  honey ;  I 's  right  smaht  glad  tu 
git  de  wo'k.  Now  yo'  sit  an'  I  '11  hab  cup  o'  coffee 
right  smaht.  Mist'  John,  he  know  ol'  Cl'issy's 
coffee   good." 

"  Oh,  don't  trouble,  please  don't." 

**  Yas,  Miss  Po'tia;  I  'members  right  well  Mar's 
Gen'l  he  uset  tu  say,  dar  ain'  no  use  libbin'  'daout 
hospitableness." 

She  had  grown  so  animated  and  happy  in  her 
bustle  of  preparation  that  Portia  had  not  the  heart 
to  stop  her,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time 
her  little  pine  table  held  as  tempting  a  breakfast  as 
two  hungry  mortals  could  wish,  —  corn  bread,  eggs 
and  bacon,  crisp,  sweet,  and  sputtering  hot,  and  cold 
chicken  and  coffee. 

**  Had  your  breakfast,  Joe?"  said  John,  perceiv- 
ing the  odor  with  the  pleasure  of  a  healthy 
appetite. 

"  Yas,  sah ;  mammy  she  ol'  an'  crupple,  but  I  'low 
she  wo'th  mo'  'n  I  is  now,"  said  Joe,  weakly. 

**  You  're  all  right,  Joe.  You  pull  yourself  together 
and  get  out  of  here,  and  things  will  look  brighter. 


Mammy  CFissy's  Buryin'  Clo'es      251 

Don't  fret  about  your  mule ;  I  '11  see  that  you  get 
work  as  soon  as  you  are  able ;  and  if  those  young 
fellows  are  in  a  hurry  for  their  money,  I  '11  loan  you 
a  bit  until  you  are  ready  to  earn  it.  All  you  have 
to  do  is  to  haul  yourself  together,  and  we  '11  have 
work  enough  to  keep  you  and  those  precious  mules 
busy  all  the  fall  and  winter  too." 

"  Mist'  John,  oh,  Mist'  John,  come  right  'long  an' 
eat  yo'  co'n  bread  while  hit  hot  fo'  melt  de  but- 
tah.  Co'n  bread  col'  ain'  no  good  nohow,"  called 
Mammy  Clarissa  from  the  foot  of  the  ladder. 

"  Yes,  mammy,  yes,  I  come  with  the  greatest 
alacrity.  Good-bye,  Joe,  mind  what  I  tell  you,  and 
don't  get  down-hearted.  —  Why,  mammy,  this  is 
like  the  times  I  remember  when  you  used  to  cook 
me  a  meal  all  my  own,  when  I  used  to  pay  for  some 
fun  by  being  sent  off  without  my  dinner." 

"  Sholy,  honey,  sholy.  Yo'  ain'  tasted  yo'  ol* 
mammy's  cookin'  fo'  nigh  on  tu  fifteen  yeah.  Ga- 
br'ella  done  fotch  dis  buttah,  an'  I  done  rose  de 
chicken  an'  aigs  my  own  se'f,  an'  buy  dis  bacon 
wid  de  dollah  yo'  gib  me  turrer  day.  Draw  up  yo' 
cheer.  Miss  Po'tia,  an'  eat.  Dis  mighty  po'  far'  fo' 
yo',  I  reckon,  but  rid'n'  'fo'  breakfus'  makes  young 
folks  like  yo'  is  hungry  'nuff  tu  tu'n  co'n  bread  'n' 
bacon  intu  bes'  kin'  o'  high-tone  victuals." 

"  I  wonder  what  that  old  woman  has  on  her 
mind,"  said  Portia,  as  they  strolled  back  to  their 
horses  through  the  wildwood  tangle.  ''  She  says 
the  Lord  has  laid  on  her  the  curse  of  living." 

*'  Oh,  her  head  is  stuffed  full  of  superstitions, 
They  all  are,  the  negroes." 


252    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  She  has  some  strange  ideas  about  death.  Did 
you  see  those  things  laid  out  on  the  bed?  She 
says  they  are  her  burying  clothes,  but  that  the  Lord 
is  not  going  to  allow  her  to  wear  them.  Poor  old 
thing  !  she  did  n't  seem  to  wish  to  talk  to  me  about  it. 
I  tried  to  find  out  what  she  meant,  but  she  changed 
the  subject  and  began  to  cook  our  breakfast." 

"  Perhaps  she  thinks  some  one  has  '  tricked '  her, 
as  they  say.  They  always  lay  their  misfortunes  to 
some  such  thing."  He  led  Brown  Betty  out  from 
the  shade  where  he  had  tied  her  and  lifted  Portia 
deliberately  into  the  saddle. 

"You  need  not  do  that;  I  can  spring  up  as  I 
always  do." 

"But  it  is  my  privilege  now,  is  it  not?" 

"It  is  sometimes;  but  John-;-"  she  stopped 
abruptly. 

"What  is  the  'but'?" 

"  I  told  you.  Your  happiness  frightens  me.  It 
is  beautiful,  but  how  can  it  last?  Even  now  I  must 
begin  asking  hard  things  of  you.  I  must  ask  you 
not  to  ride  home  with  me,  or  not  any  further  than 
the  turn  in  the  road,  there  by  the  dogwood-trees." 

"Where  you  sang  to  nie  the  very  next  morning 
after  our  first  meeting?  I  will  turn  back  at  that 
place,  and  why?  " 

"  My  face  will  tell  tales."  She  flushed  crimson 
at  the  thought  of  riding  up  the  walk  with  him, 
under  the  scrutiny  of  her  assembled  household. 
"They  will  all  be  out  there  on  the  piazza,  wonder- 
ing where  on  earth  I  have  been." 

"  How  can  I  help  being  happy  when  your  face 
tells  tales  of  your  heart,  and  I  know  that  the  story 


Mammy  Cl'issy's  Buryin'  Clo'es      253 

is  mine?  I  am  not  proof  against  it  even  if  all  the 
world  guesses." 

"  Our  love  is  sacred.  I  cannot  have  them  prying 
into  it.  After  a  while  I  may  get  used  to  it.  The 
feeling  is  so  new  now,  I  cannot  let  any  one  look  into 
my  heart." 

John  rode  close  to  her,  and  touching  the  hand 
hanging  down  by  her  side  said,  "  Is  it  a  sweet  feel- 
ing, Portia?  " 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  and  gave  him  a  look  he 
never  forgot.  "Ask  your  own  heart,  John;  you 
will  find  the  answer  there." 

'*  One  would  think  that  answer  should  satisfy  me, 
but  I  will  ask  it  over,  only  to  hear  you  say  it  again." 

Portia  was  right.  All  had  breakfasted,  and  most 
of  the  guests  were  lounging  about  the  piazza,  dis- 
cussing the  weather  and  indulging  in  badinage. 
Marguerite  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  fountain  dabbling 
in  the  water  with  Juliet,  and  talking  with  Mr.  Held, 
who  had  returned  in  the  early  morning  from  a  trip 
over  the  mountains.  All  eyes  were  fixed  on  Portia 
as  she  rode  up  the  drive.  Mr.  Russell  came  for- 
ward, alert,  with  beaming  face,  to  assist  her  from  the 
saddle. 

"  We  have  missed  you  this  morning,"  he  said. 

"  What  a  dear  horse  !  "  said  Marguerite,  petting 
Betty's  neck,  and  feeding  her  a  rose  from  the  bunch 
at  her  belt. 

"  Indeed  she  is  !  You  must  try  her  some  time," 
said  Portia.  "Thank  you,  Mr.  Russell.  Where  is 
Andy?  Here,  Andy,  take  the  horse,  and  tell  Alex- 
ander I  wish  to  see  him  in  about  half  an  hour.  We 
are  glad  to  see  you  back  again,  Mr.  Held.     Have 


2  54    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

you  just  come?  Have  you  breakfasted?  You  see, 
I  ran  away  this  morning." 

''I  see." 

**Was  your  trip  successful?" 

"Come  and  look  over  my  sketches.  You  shall 
judge  for  yourself." 

"  How  delightful !  I  must  say  a  word  to  the 
cook  first,  however ;  one  cannot  ignore  meals  even 
for  art.  Artists  themselves  are  hungry  sometimes,  I 
am  told." 

"  Never,  Miss  Van  Ostade,  never." 

"Never?"  cried  Mrs.  Barry.  "You  were  not 
here  at  breakfast,  Miss  Van  Ostade,  or  he  would  not 
dare  say  that.  He  said  he  had  been  starved  for  a 
week,  and  ate  as  if  he  had  been,  too." 

**  I  can't  imagine  what  is  keeping  John,"  said  Mar- 
guerite;  "he  was  to  be  here  early  this  morning." 

"  Then  he  surely  will,"  said  Portia,  guiltily.  "  Let 
us  all  go  in  and  look  at  Mr.  Held's  sketches.  They 
are  charming.  You  will  not  miss  him  when  you  see 
them." 

"  He  promised  to  send  me  a  horse,  and  to  ride 
with  me.  Never  mind ;  I  would  much  rather  look 
at  your  sketches,  Mr.  Held,  and  I  shall  tell  him  so, 
too." 

"  Thanks,  I  will  try  to  believe  what  you  say." 

"  We  have  been  dying  to  have  those  boxes 
opened,"  said  Miss  Keller,  coming  down  the  steps 
with  the  young  man  from  New  Jersey.  "  Mr.  Held, 
Mr.  Vedder." 

"  Happy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  sir.  Then 
we  will  open  them  immediately.  I  am  always  ready 
to  save  life." 


Mammy  Cl'issy's  Buryin'  Clo'es      255 

"  Especially  when  you  can  charm  at  the  same 
time,  Mr.  Held?"  said  Marguerite. 

'*  I  must  inquire  after  Mrs.  Marshall,"  said  Portia 

to  her. 

"  Oh,  she  is  well.  She  almost  always  is.  She 
did  not  come  down  this  morning,  but  she  means  to 
drive  after  a  while,  I  think." 

"  I  hope  she  will  not  find  it  dull  here." 

"No,  aunty  never  is  dull.  Sometimes  she  pre- 
tends to  be.  She  should  rest  now  at  any  rate,  for 
she  was  going  all  the  time  in  New  York." 

**  I  am  sure  she  never  could  be  dull  with  you 
always  with  her ;  I  need  not  have  asked,"  said  Portia, 
with  a  smile.  ''  I  shall  be  back  in  a  moment,  Mr. 
Held,"  and  she  left  them,  hurrying  to  the  kitchen. 

**  Surre,  Miss  Porrtia,  an'  it's  an  awful  leddy  yees 
have  up  shtairs  now.  The  Frinch  gurril  is  comin' 
into  me  kitchen  ivrry  blessed  minute  wid  a  new 
notion  in  her  head,  an'  now  it 's  '  'Ave  yees  any  ice  in 
this  howl  iv  a  place?'  an'  now  it's  '  Th'  eggs  is  too 
harrd,  an'  th'  eggs  is  too  saft,'  an'  it's  mesilf '11  in- 
vite 'er  to  cook  'em  hersilf  next." 

"You  mustn't  mind,  Maggie;  no  doubt  she  is 
tired." 

**  An'  it 's  tired  she  must  be  wid  thinkin'  up  new 
things  fer  wantin'." 

"Well,  you  know  it  won't  do  to  talk  about  our 
guests,  so  we  will  say  nothing,  and  you  must  do  the 
best  you  can." 

"  There  's  a  load  o'  things  come  down  from  Ashe- 
ville.  Miss  Porrtia,  an'  herr  's  the  bill  o'  thim." 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad.  Hav^e  they  sent  the  fruit?  Yes, 
here  it  is.     That  is  one  thing  off  my  mind.     Bring 


256    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

that  Dresden  bowl,  Maggie,  the  bkie  one."  Portia 
began  hastily  unloading  good  things  from  the 
hamper  which  made  weekly  trips  between  Patter- 
son and  Asheville  to  keep  the  house  supplied  with 
necessary  articles.  Semi-occasionally  a  similar  ham- 
per was  sent  on  from  New  York. 

"  You  may  put  away  these  as  I  take  them  out, 
Maggie ;  wait  until  I  can  check  them  off.  That  is 
right." 

Portia's  rapid  movements  soon  restored  order  to 
the  old  kitchen.  The  hamper  was  carried  out, 
and  she  began  arranging  some  of  the  fresh  fruit  in 
the  dainty  Dresden  bowl. 

"  Call  Lucy ;  I  wish  her  to  take  these  to  Mrs. 
Marshall's  room.  Bring  me  some  roses,  —  no, — 
just  the  buds,  Maggie,  those  are  too  full-blown. 
Now,  isn't  it  pretty?" 

"  It 's  yersilf  makes  ivry  thing  purrty  wid  the 
touch  av  yer  ban's,"  said  Maggie,  warmly. 

"Ah,  Maggie,  that's  blarney.  Don't  you  re- 
member how  I  spoiled  the  cake  for  you  yesterday, 
putting  on  the  frosting?  Here,  Lucy,  take  this 
bowl  of  fruit  to  Mrs.  Marshall's  room.  Say  Miss 
Van  Ostade  sent  it,  and  don't  stay;  just  hand  it  in 
and  go  away." 

The  dish  did  not  look  quite  so  pretty  when  it 
reached  Mrs.  Marshall,  for  one  or  two  of  the 
great  ripe  cherries  had  found  their  way  into  Lucy's 
capacious  mouth,  but  it  was  enough  to  win  gracious 
thanks  from  the  recipient  later,  when  she  entered 
the  room  while  all  were  occupied  in  looking  over 
the  sketches. 

"  This  waterfall  is  charming,"  said  Portia.    ''  Where 


1 
Mammy  Cl'issy's  Buryin'  Clo'es      257 

did   you  find   such    a  wonderful    spot?     Is   it  near 
here?" 

''It  Is  only  about  four  miles  from  Patterson,  six 
from  here,  I  should  think." 

"  So  near?     We  must  visit  it." 

"  Let  us  all  go  and  make  a  day  of  it,"  sug- 
gested   Mrs.  Barry. 

"How  do  you  get  there,"  said  Mr.  Ridgeway; 
"  by  carriage?  " 

"  It  can  be  reached  in  that  way  —  I  had  my  trap, 
you  know  —  but  on  horseback  is  much  the  better 
way.  It  might  be  a  little  rough  for  ladles,  but  they 
have  done  it." 

"  Of  course  we  can,"  cried  Marguerite.  "  I 
mean  to  go  there  if  I  have  to  go  all  by  myself. 
Were  you  ever  there,  Aunt  Isabel?" 

"  Long  ago.  But  my  jaunting  days  are  over. 
You  must  find  some  one  else  to  chaperone  you  on 
such  trips." 

"  Not  at  all  necessary,  Aunt  Isabel.  I  will  go 
without  one.     I  am  an  American  girl." 

"  I  will  undertake  that  duty  with  pleasure,  and  I 
warrant  Mrs.  Marshall  it  will  be  well  done,"  said 
Mr.   Held. 

"We  shall  all  be  glad  to  chaperone  Miss 
McLourie,"  said  Mr.  Russell. 

"  Oh,  that  would  never  do.  Some  one  must  stay 
here  to  chaperone  Aunt  Isabel." 

"  Marguerite  !  " 

"  You  know  it  is  my  duty  to  look  after  you, 
aunt." 

"When  shall  we  go?"  said  Mr.  Held. 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  said  Mr.  Vedder. 
17 


258    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Rightaway — if  possible,  to-morrow,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Barry. 

"  Would  n't  the  day  after  be  better?  "  said  Portia. 
**  We  must  have  a  lunch,  you  know." 

''That  is  right,  day  after  to-morrow,"  cried 
Marguerite ;  then,  in  an  aside  to  her  guardian, 
"  Where  can  John  be?  He  was  going  to  send  the 
horses  this  morning." 

John  was  at  that  moment  prowling  over  the  new 
building,  taking  note  of  the  work,  and  dreaming  of 
his  future.  Crossing  the  road  to  the  station  later 
he  saw  Lord  Chesterfield  leave  his  parlors  in  fault- 
less attire,  with  a  neat  black  case  in  his  hand.  He 
had  regular  customers  at  the  new  boarding-house. 
The  world  was  looking  up  for  him  in  these  days. 

*'  Why,  Chas,  you  look  quite  aristocratic.  Where 
are  you  bound  for?" 

"  De  new  bo'din'-haouse,  sah.  I  has  a  right  smaht 
heap  o'  customers  daoun  yandah.  Da 's  de  ol' 
genTman  wi'  de  fine  long  mustaches, — he  keep 
he's  face  shave  mighty  clean  an'  young  lookin',  an' 
da  's  de  light  young  gen'l'man  come  turrer  day,  an* 
Mist'  Held,  he  done  come  back  'gin,  —  I  'low  he 
wan'  see  me  'long  baouts  dis  time." 

"  Shave  them  up  well  and  don't  waste  your 
money." 

**  Naw  sah,  naw !  I  don'  waste  no  money." 
1  No,  Chas  never  wasted  money,  except  on  his  own 
'  precious  person.  His  ruling  passion,  and  the  great 
stimulus  of  life  was  the  accumulation  of  dollars  and 
cents,  as  much  as  if  he  were  a  full-blooded  white 
man  and  the  son  of  a  Wall  Street  broker.  Just 
now    he    was    bent    on    marrying    Gabriella    Gunn, 


'^iu. 


Mammy  Cl'issy's  Buryin'  Clo'es      259 

because  she  was  industrious  and  saving,  as  well  as 
good-looking;  but  still  his  affections  were  divided 
between  her  and  a  chambermaid  in  Asheville, 
whose  complexion  was  seven  times  darker  than  mid- 
night, w^ho  had  laid  by  the  magnificent  sum  of  three 
hundred  dollars  with  which  she  was  trying  to  tempt 
this  dashing  young  cavalier.  Now  as  he  walked, 
he  weighed  in  his  mind  the  advantages  of  each.  If 
he  took  the  one  of  midnight  skin,  he  might  buy  him 
a  fine  cart,  like  the  one  Mist'  John  rode  about  in. 
He  would  not  walk  in  the  dust  and  heat;  but 
would  drive  to  and  from  his  little  jobs,  an  enviable 
spectacle  in  the  eyes  of  his  brethren.  Louisa  Ann 
and  he  might  have  a  fine  little  place  near  the  new 
hotel,  where  she  could  add  to  their  pile  by  doing 
chamber  work.  Surel}'  the  plan  was  good,  —  but 
as  he  took  his  solitary  way,  swinging  his  case,  and 
mopping  his  brow  with  a  strongly  perfumed  silk- 
handkerchief,  he  saw  walking  easily  along  before 
him,  with  her  basket  poised  on  her  head,  her  arms 
akimbo,  and  her  lithe  body  erect  under  the  load, 
"  Miss  Gunn,"  and  all  the  persistence  of  his  most 
persistent  nature  was  roused  to  conquer  her  with  / 
his  oft  repeated  assurances  of  undivided  love. 

'*  Mawnin',  Miss  Gunn,  mawnin' !  "  he  said,  with 
his  most  flattering  smile.  Gabriella  was  inclined  to 
be  affable  this  morning,  and  beamed  on  him  with 
eyes  and  teeth  bewitchingly.  They  paused  in  the 
road  to  pass  the  time  of  day,  and  make  elaborate 
inquiries  into  each  other's  state  of  health.  This 
seemed  a  most  propitious  time,  so,  as  they  walked 
on  together,  Chas  drew  insinuatingly  near,  and 
passed  his  arm  about  her  waist. 


26o    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

**  Laws  naow,  quit  yo'  foolin',"  she  said,  with  a 
laugh.  '*  Haow  yo'  s'pose  I  gwine  tote  yo'  an'  dis- 
yer  co'n  meal  up  de  hill?  Kyan'  yo'  tote  yo'  own 
ahm  'daout  hitchin'  hit  on  tu  me?  Quit!  Yo' 
baoun'  tu  upset  dis-yer  basket." 

''  Yo'  haish !  Did  n'  I  tol'  yo'  I  ain  gwine  put 
up  wid  yo'  foolin'  no  longer?  Yo'  like  tu  craze  me 
wid  yo'  goin's  on.  I  reckon  I  '11  be  tuk  sick  'fo' 
long,  I  been  so  trouble'  in  my  min*." 

*'  Likely  yo'  is  trouble'  in  yo'  min'."  She  shrieked 
with  laughter,  setting  down  her  basket,  that  she 
might  shake  herself  in  her  merriment.  "  I  see  yo' 
mighty  trouble'  in  yo'  min'  studyin'  haow  yo'  gwine 
git  'long  wid  Gabr'ella  Gunn  one  day,  an'  dat  fine 
young  lady  in  Asheville  nex'." 

*'  Dey  ain'  no  gal  in  Asheville  kin  stan'  'long- 
side  Gabr'ella  Gunn." 

"  Naw,  likely  not.  I  hyeared  yo'  co'tin',  yandah 
in  Asheville.  I  done  hyeared  yo'  co'tin'  Louisa  Ann 
Williams,  ol'  Bija's  gal.  She  tu  pu'ty  tu  stan'  'long- 
side  whar  I  stan'.     I  's  seed  her  heap  o'  times." 

'*  Look  a-heah,  Gabr'ella,  I  been  so  hu'ted  in  my 
min'  wid  yo'  foolin'  I  jes*  tryin'  tu  like  nudder  gal, 
but  I  sw'ar  I  kyan'  du  hit  nohaow,  I  's  dat  fool  gone 
on  yo',  Gabr'ella,  an'  heah  yo'  smile  one  day,  an' 
chide  de  nex'." 

"  Yandah  comes  Mist'  Ridgeway's  cahiage.  Is 
yo'  seed  ol'  missus?  Nance  say  as  haow  she 
come  back  'gin.  Nance  say  as  haow  Alexandah 
wife,  she  say  Alek,  he  mos'  knock  aout  de  las'  toof 
in  he's  haid,  he  so  s'prised,  an'  he's  teef  knock  to- 
gedder  like  he  see  a  ghos',  dat  time  she  come  'long- 
side  de  cahiage  like  she  step  aout'n  de  grabe." 


Mammy  Cl'issy's  Buryin'  Clo'es      261 

**  I  seed  her  git  off'n  de  kyar  las'  ebenin',  but  I 
'low  she  nuvah  knowed  who  I  war.  I  nuvah  let  on 
like  I  seed  'er.  I  spec'  she  hate  de  berry  sight  o' 
we-all,  sence  she  kyan'  call  we  her  cattle,  an'  set  de 
ovahseah  on  us  like  she  uset  tu  no  mo'.  I  kin 
'membah  right  well  dat  time  I  peek  t'roo  de  shed 
doah,  an'  I  seed  her  stannin'  dar  an'  de  ovahseah, 
an'  ol'  Kate  cryin'  in  de  kitchin.  OF  Kate  she 
say,  *  Run  'nd  peek,  chile,  quick;  I  'low  dey '11  kill 
Cl'issy,'  an'  I  peek,  an'  dar  lie  Cl'issy,  an'  ol'  missus 
lookin'  on,  an'  de  ovahseah  lay  on  de  lash  like  he 
nuvah  gwine  leab  a  speck  o'  skin  on  her  back." 
Chas  paused  to  look  after  the  carriage  as  it  rolled 
past,  then  continued,  "  I  seed  mo'  'n  dat  tu,  oncet. 
Dat  time  Mars'r  war  in  Wash'nton,  an*  missus  she 
run  de  place.  She  run  hit  right  ha'd  tu  w'en  she 
run  hit,  a  smilin'  one  day,  an'  a  lickin'  de  nex'." 

They  had  come  to  the  turn  where  their  roads  lay 
in  different  directions,  and  now  they  proceeded  to 
take  as  elaborate  a  leave  of  one  another  as  if  they 
were  not  to  meet  again  for  months. 


CHAPTER    XX 
THE    BLIND    WOMAN'S    VISIT 

MA,"  said  Miss  Katherine,  a  few  days  after 
Mrs.  Marshall's  arrival,  ''  ought  we  not  to 
call  on  John's  mothah?  Shall  we  go  to-day?" 
The  old  lady  turned  her  sightless  eyes  on  her 
daughter  a  moment,  but  said  nothing.  *'  I  know, 
ma,  we  can't  do  like  we  used  tue,  but  ouh  family  is 
as  good  as  hers,  if  we  ah  poor,  and  the  ride  will  do 
you  good.  We  have  n't  made  a  call  together  foh 
an  age." 

"It  is  n't  that  there  is  any  question  of  family  be- 
tween us  ;  there  never  was  ;  but  you  know  I  can't  see 
her  now,  and  I  don't  care  to  have  her  pitying  me, 
—  but  there,  Katherine,  you  are  right,  we  would 
better  go."  She  was  silent  a  moment,  lost  in  thought, 
then  spoke  again.  *'  Mrs.  Marshall  never  was  one 
to  look  up  to  any  one  else,  but-  as  far  as  family 
goes,  she  might  have  looked  up  to  your  father." 

Katherine  sat  in  a  low  chair  with  her  lap  full  of 
roses,  arranging  them  in  a  row  of  vases  before  her, 
and  snipping  off  the  thorns  and  imperfect  ones  as 
she  talked.  They  were  seated  in  the  shade  of  vines, 
in  one  corner  of  the  broad  piazza  that  ran  jft-ound 
three  sides  of  the  house.  Mrs.  Wells  swayed  slowly 
back  and  forth  in  a  rocker  and  fanned  herself  with 
a  palm-leaf  fan. 

262 


The  Blind  Woman's  Visit  263 

"  Of  coa'se  I  know  pa's  family  was  of  the  very 
best  in  this  country,  where  there  is  no  real  aristoc- 
racy, and  so  was  youas,  mothah,  foh  that  mattah, 
but  there  it  is,  she  is  as  rich  as  evah  they  were, 
while  we, — where  ah  we?  How  comes  it  that  the 
wall  used  us-all  up,  and  left  her  as  rich  as  evah,  o' 
richer?  " 

**  It's  no  North  Carolina  property  she  's  living  on 
now,  daughter.  I  reckon  there  in  Cuba,  while  we 
were  losing,  they  were  making  hand  over  fist. 
Her  father  was  never  one  to  lose  a  good  chance, 
and  she  has  the  thrift  of  the  whole  family  condensed 
in  one  for  saving.  I  well  remember  when  the  Gen- 
eral was  all  taken  up  with  his  political  duties,  she 
managed  that  place  better  than  ever  he  did,  —  she 
got  more  out  of  the  niggers  than  ever  he  did,  for 
one  thing." 

"  I  always  thought  the  Yankees  were  the  ones  for 
making  money,  — she  's  no  Yankee." 

"  No,  but  she  's  from  one  of  those  rich  old  Spanish 
families,  and  I  'm  thinking  there  never  was  a  na- 
tion that  cared  more  for  gold.  The  old  General  was 
free-handed  and  open-hearted,  but  she  was  close  both 
ways,  and  yet  she  was  lavish  too,  in  a  way."  Mrs. 
Wells  swayed  thoughtfully  a  moment  in  her  rocker, 
and  Miss  Katherine  snipped  at  her  roses ;  then  her 
mother  resumed  the  thread  of  her  talk.  "  She 
would  do  some  big,  generous  thing  when  she  felt 
like  it,  but  she  knew  how  to  hold  her  own  as  well 
as  any  one  I  ever  saw ;  but  then,  we  were  always 
good  friends.  Yes,  of  course  we  must  call,  and 
that  right  soon." 

"  I  think  there's  someone  coming.    I  see  dust  ris- 


264    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

ing  ovah  the  rise  in  the  road,  —  suah  enough,  it's 
John  and  Miss  McLourie  !  " 

The  young  people  were  upon  them  before  Miss 
Katherine  could  shake  the  rose-leaves  from  her  lap. 
Some  one  else  was  with  them.  It  was  the  artist. 
As  they  drew  rein  before  the  long  piazza,  he  it  was 
who  assisted  Marguerite  from  the  saddle.  Happy 
little  Marguerite !  she  needed  only  the  glow  which 
the  exercise  brought  into  her  cheeks  to  make  her 
startlingly  beautiful. 

"  Do  go  on  with  your  flowers,"  said  Marguerite 
after  the  introductions  were  over.  *'  You  don't  know 
how  pretty  you  looked  seated  among  these  vines 
with  your  lap  full  of  roses.  Did  n't  she,  John?  Let 
me  help  you." 

*'  Help  me  look  pretty?  Indeed  you  can  do  that 
very  easily,  —  sit  right  beside  me."  The  two  gentle- 
men laughed.  Marguerite  laughed  too,  but  did  as 
she  was  bid. 

"  Come  here,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Wells.  "  You 
know  I  cannot  see  you,  and  I  wish  to  know  if  you 
are  like  your  mother.  I  used  to  know  your  beauti- 
ful mother." 

"  Miss  McLourie  is  a  young  lady,  ma,  she  is  not  a 
child." 

Marguerite  obediently  went  over,  and  knelt  down 
by  her  chair,  while  the  old  lady  lightly  touched  her 
hair,  her  cheeks  and  forehead,  and  chin,  and  throat 
and  hands. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  at  last,  "  you  are  like  your  mother, 
and  I  have  looked  into  your  eyes  when  you  were  a 
little  dimpled  baby,  and  held  you  in  my  arms  in  your 
long  white  dresses.    You  were  such  a  peaceful  baby." 


The  Blind  Woman's  Visit  265 

'*  What  a  change  you  have  undergone,  Mar- 
guerite," said  John,  teasingly. 

'*  No  wonder !  if  you  had  held  me  I  would  have 
screamed  and  kicked."  As  she  turned  to  pout  at 
John,  she  caught  the  look  of  open-eyed  admiration 
on  the  face  of  the  artist,  which  he  was  unconscious 
of  showing,  it  being  merely  the  scientific  admiration 
to  which  he  thought  his  art  entitled  him. 

Marguerite  comprehended,  and  a  gleam  of  resent- 
ment flashed  into  her  eyes,  as  she  thought,  "  I  '11 
teach  him  to  look  at  me  as  if  I  were  some  old  ruin, 
or  something  to  put  in  one  of  his  old  pictures,"  but 
she  only  turned  toward  Miss  Katherine  with  a  smile. 

**  We  are  all  going  on  an  excursion  to  the  love- 
liest place ;  Mr.  Held  found  it.  And  we  want  you 
to  join  us.  Miss  Van  Ostade  sent  us,  or  rather  was 
coming  herself,  and  we  said  we  would  bring  it  — the 
invitation  —  for  her." 

"  As  well  as  for  ourselves,"  said  John. 

"  Of  course,  and  you  will  go,  will  you  not?" 

Katherine  looked  at  her  mother,  and  the  blind 
woman,  divining  as  if  she  could  see,  responded  to 
the  look.  "  Yes,  Katherine,  Gertrude  can  do  all  I 
wish.     Of  course  she  will  go,  it  will  do  her  good." 

"But  motheh  — " 

*'  Don't  stop  to  think  of  any  *  buts.'  " 

"No,  don't,"  said  John. 

"  How  long  must  I  be  away  ?  " 

"  Only  two  days ;  one  to  go,  one  night  there  and 
one  day  to  return." 

*'  Oh,  neveh  !  "  Katherine  was  appalled.  "  Why,  I 
have  n't  been  away  from  ma  foh  ten  yeahs."  She 
rose  in  a  flutter  and  brushed  the  lose-leaves  frorp 


266    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

her  dress.  **  I  cannot.  Theah  's  only  Gertrude 
heah,  and  Gabe,  —  but  he's  no  good." 

Mr.  Held  eyed  her  critically.  *'  She  would  make  a 
fine  study,"  he  thought,  "  and  the  old  lady  too,  just 
as  they  are." 

"  Where  do  you  go?  "  asked  the  mother. 

**  It 's  up  at  a  place  they  call  Hibbard's  Lodge. 
I  know  the  man  who  built  it.  He  lives  in  Washing- 
ton, and  goes  up  there  once  a  year.  The  rest  of  the 
time  an  old  man  and  his  wife  keep  the  place  and 
make  what  they  can  from  the  few  travellers  who 
come  that  way.  The  only  trouble  is,  you  have  to 
take  what  provision  you  need  along  with  you,  for 
the  old  couple  never  keep  much  on  hand,  —  but 
it 's  all  very  neat,  and  well  kept." 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  did?"  asked  Marguerite, 
roguishly. 

'*  No,  I  lived  on  scenery  and  paint." 

"  Well,  what  word  shall  we  take  to  Miss  Van 
Ostade?  "  said  John. 

"  Come,"  said  Marguerite,  drawing  Katherine 
after  her,  **  don't  say  no,  until  wc  talk  it  all  over. 
Let  us  go  in  here  while  they  visit." 

Katherine  yielded  to  the  gentle  pull,  and  so  once 
more  the  little  witch  had  her  way,  and  in  five  min- 
utes had  made  a  resting-place  for  herself  in  Miss 
Katherine's  heart.  They  returned  the  best  of  old 
friends,  because,  as  Marguerite  explained  to  Kath- 
erine, **  You  see,  your  mother  knew  my  mother, 
even  before  she  was  married,  and  held  me  in  her 
arms  when  I  was  a  tiny  little  baby,  so  it  seems  we 
have  always  been  friends,  does  it  not?"  A  fact 
which  the  child  had  learned  for  the  first  time  a  few 


The  Blind  Woman's  Visit  267 

moments  before  as  she  knelt  by  the  bHnd  woman's 
chair;  but  how  should  Katherine  know  it,  had  it  not 
been  told  over  and  over  again  by  Aunt  Isabel,  and  so 
she  loved  them  both  the  better  for  the  thought,  and 
no  harm  was  done  by  the  innocent  deception,  which, 
to  do  Marguerite  justice,  was  not  intended  as  such. 

^'  Yes,  John,  she  will  go,"  said  Marguerite,  trium- 
phantly, '*  and  now  we  must  settle  about  time  and 
everything." 

'*  And  I  must  think  about  ma  tue,  she  can't  stay 
all  alone  with  that  Gertrude." 

"  Now,  daughter,"  —  said  the  mother,  and  there 
was  more  debating,  until  the  matter  was  settled  to 
Miss  Katherine's  mind.  John  would  ride  over  and 
ask  Mrs.  Chaplain  to  spend  the  time  of  Katherine's 
absence  with  her  mother.  "  Yes,  that  would  do," 
and:  "She  would  surely  go?"  "Yes,  surely." 
Then  the  three  visitors  rode  away  satisfied,  and 
Katherine  watched  them  out  of  sight  with  beating 
heart.  She  was  really  to  have  an  outing  of  the  old- 
fashioned  kind  !  The  old  times  were  coming  back, 
and  people  were  beginning  to  live  once  more. 

"  John  and  I  will  ride  over  again  as  soon  as  all 
the  arrangements  are  made,"  Marguerite  called 
back,  with  a  glance  that  made  Mr.  Held  envious  of 
John  for  a  moment.  Ah,  she  was  already  begin- 
ning to  play  her  little  tunes  on  the  sensitive  harp  of 
his  artistic  nature !  They  rode  on  ahead  in  the  nar- 
row road,  laughing  and  chatting,  while  John,  ab- 
sorbed in  his  own  hopes  and  plans,  took  his  way  in 
the  rear,  dreaming  and  thinking. 

That  afternoon  Katherine  drove  her  mother  over 
to  the  boarding-house,  in  the  obsolete  vehicle  which 


268    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

still  remained  of  their  former  grandeur,  and  with  the 
old  brown  pony.  The  call  was  made  in  as  great  state 
as  was  in  their  power.  Mrs.  Marshall  was  peculiarly 
gracious  that  afternoon.  She  shed  tears  as  they 
talked  over  the  past,  and  condoled  with  her  old 
friend  on  her  blindness. 

"  But  you  are  not  much  worse  off  than  the  rest  of 
us,"  she  said  at  last.  *'  You  are  spared  the  pain  we 
have  to  endure  of  seeing  such  dismal  changes.  You 
can  think  of  it  all  as  it  used  to  be,  without  the  dread- 
ful truth  being  forced  on  you  continually  that  the 
South  has  been  defrauded,  ruined,  by  the  vilest  in- 
justice." Her  laces  trembled  around  her  face  and 
throat,  as  she  raised  herself,  and  sat  erect  among  the 
cushions  that  had  been  heaped  around  her.  ''Think 
what  I  must  feel,  here  in  the  house  that  used  to  be 
mine,  surrounded  by  these  Northern  women,  who 
have  come  here  to  make  money  from  our  mis- 
fortunes.    I  wish  I  could  n't  see  them,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Why,  aunt,  you  had  money  enough.  Why  did 
you  sell  the  place  if  you  cared  so  much  for  it?  You 
could  have  kept  it." 

"Kept  it?  What  should  I  have  kept  it  for? 
Robbed  of  my  rights,  robbed  of  my  servants, 
robbed  of  my  husband,  —  kept  it  indeed  !  I  only 
wish  we  had  the  war  to  fight  over  again,  and  that 
all  the  soldiers  might  be  women." 

Miss  Katherine  sat  silent,  with  her  hands  folded 
in  her  lap.  "  Well,"  said  her  mother  at  length,  *'  the 
past  is  past,  and  war  is  terrible  at  best.  I  would  not 
wish  to  go  through  it  again." 

"  No,  not  with  your  calm  disposition,  but  mine 
was  different.     If  we  had  had  an  army  of  women 


The  Blind  Woman's  Visit  269 

with  my  spirit,  we  would  never  have  given  up  until 
the  ground  all  over  the  South  was  saturated  with 
our  blood." 

"I  believe  you,  aunt:  you  would  have  made  a 
splendid  general ;  but  I  would  not  have  been  one  to 
saturate  the  ground  with  my  blood,  I  can  tell  you 
that.  Ugh  !  What  a  thought  it  is  !  What  if  Miss 
Van  Ostade  should  hear  you  !  " 

"  She  will  hear  it  soon  enough,  if  I  stay  here,  — 
palavering  hussy.  She  will  bear  watching.  I  have 
my  eye  on   her." 

*'  Why,  aunty,  what  do  you  mean?  " 

**  Marguerite,  you  are  a  child.  Why  did  I  come 
to  this  horrid  place  at  all?" 

"To  please  me,  aunt,  of  course,  and  it's  lucky  I 
am  a  child,  for  if  I  had  been  born  when  you  were, 
you  would  never  have  had  the  pleasure  of  taking 
care  of  me,  and  I  could  never  have  called  you 
aunt." 

**  The  past  is  past,  as  you  say,"  said  Mrs.  Marshall, 
ignoring  this  sally,  and  settling  herself  back  among 
the  cushions.  *'  But  we  can't  forget,  though  we  may 
suffer." 

Marguerite  laughed  merrily.  "  How  you  must 
suffer,  aunt,  lying  in  that  chair  among  Miss  Van 
Ostade's   cushions." 

**  And  what  a  tease  you  must  be,"  said  Miss 
Katherine,  gayly. 

"  I  never  mind  her.  She  is  thoroughly  spoiled," 
said  Mrs.  Marshall,  languidly. 

*'  That 's  so,  aunty  dear,  and  who  could  have  done 
it?  Come,  Miss  Katherine, —  I  call  you  that  be- 
cause John  does,  you  know,  —  come  out  and  swing 


270    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

in  the  hammock  while  aunt  lugubriates.  She  enjoys 
it.     Clare  will  call  us  when  Mrs.  Wells  wishes  you." 

So  they  went  out  and  swung  under  the  trees  for 
an  hour  while  the  older  ladies  reviewed  their  past, 
and  as  they  chatted  and  swung,  Miss  Katherine  felt 
herself  growing  younger,  and  the  younger  maid, 
playing  so  successfully  on  the  heartstrings  of  the 
elder,  felt  her  own  being  stirred  with  a  loving  im- 
pulse, and,  leaning  over,  took  the  fine  sweet  face 
of  Miss  Katherine  in  her  two  hands  and  kissed  it. 

"  There,  I  have  been  wanting  to  do  that,  and  now 
I  have  done  it,"  she  said. 

Miss  Katherine  flushed  with  pleasure,  and  drew 
the  siren  close  to  her  side.  "  Here  comes  Clare," 
said   Marguerite;  "we  must  go  in." 

Two  men,  her  lover  and  the  artist,  had  emerged 
from  the  thicket  of  wild  shrubbery  that  skirted  the 
edge  of  the  woods  encircling  the  homestead  on 
three  sides.  They  both  saw  this  little  episode,  and 
each  took  note  of  it  in  his  own  way. 

**  Mrs.  Marshall  and  her  ward  are  most  charming," 
said  Mr.  Held.  **  A  great  acquisition  to  our  small 
coterie  here  " 

"  They  are  indeed,  especiall}^  the  ward,  don't  you 
think?" 

"  Certainly,  that  goes  without  saying.  Shall  we 
join  these  ladies?  " 

''  As  you  like,  I  must  leave  you  here." 

So  Hanford  passed  on,  merely  lifting  his  hat, 
leaving  the  artist  to  follow  at  the  leisure  of  the 
ladies.  Marguerite  was  a  trifle  piqued,  but  she 
kept  up  her  merry  chatter,  and  the  glance  of  her 
dark  eyes  toward  his  retreating  figure  was  unnoticed 


The  Blind  Woman's  Visit  271 

by  her  companions.  As  they  neared  the  house, 
Portia  came  out  to  meet  them.  She  began  cordially 
urging  Miss  Katherine  to  stay  through  the  evening. 

"  You  should  not  make  a  formal  call  on  such  old 
friends,"  she  said.     ^'  I  am  sure  —  " 

"  Indeed  they  must  not,"  interrupted  Marguerite. 
"Just  wait,  I  will  ask  Mrs.  Wells,"  and  she  followed 
Clare  up  the  stair. 

But  Katherine  was  thinking  of  the  long  drive 
home  in  the  dark,  and  of  John,  with  only  the  small 
Gertrude  to  attend  to  his  evening  meal.  "  Oh,  I 
can't  stay,"  she  said. 

"  Andy  can  take  your  horse  back  now,  and  Alex- 
ander will  drive  you  home  in  the  evening,"  said  Por- 
tia, divining  her  thoughts, "  and  we  will  send  for  Mr. 
Marshall  to  dine  here;  he  will  enjoy  being  with  his 
mother,  I  am  sure." 

Still  Katherine  hesitated.  She  must  return  these 
courtesies  if  she  accepted  them,  and  how  could  she? 
No,  she  must  not  stay.  Then  Marguerite  returned, 
saying  Mrs.  Wells  would  stay  if  Katherine  thought 
best,  and  then,  just  in  time  to  turn  the  scale  in  favor 
of  the  delay,  John  came  galloping  up  the  drive,  and 
throwing  the  reins  to  Andy,  hurried  up  the  steps 
with  the  freedom  of  which  he  gladly  availed  himself 
since  his  mother's  arrival.  His  buoyant,  happy,  al- 
most triumphant  bearing  seemed  to  change  the 
aspect  of  everything.  Portia  appealed  to  him. 
Would  n't  he  persuade  his  friend  and  her  mother  to 
remain?  Ah,  wouldn't  he  though!  And  remain 
they  did,  and  dined  at  the  new  boarding-house,  al- 
though they  would  have  been  terrified  that  morning 
at  the  thought  of  doing  so. 


272    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Mrs.  Marshall  seldom  appeared  with  the  other 
guests,  until  they  gathered  in  the  dining-room  in 
the  evening,  and  then  she  was  always  closely  at- 
tended by  the  French  maid,  bearing  her  cushions, 
her  fan,  and  lace  shawls,  and  mysterious  black  bag. 
She  never  spoke  to  one  of  the  servants,  but  made  all 
her  wants  known  to  Clare,  who  in  turn  repeated 
them  to  the  waitress.  John  never  had  known  her 
to  be  quite  so  formal.  Influenced  by  her  presence, 
the  other  guests  unconsciously  assumed  an  air  of 
dignity  and  distance,  at  once  elegant  and  oppressive. 

Portia  felt  that  the  easy  geniality  hitherto  pervad- 
ing her  household,  was  gone.  She  would  not  allow 
herself  to  be  daunted,  however,  but  went  about  among 
them,  with  their  many  whims  and  smallnesses,  regu- 
lating affairs  in  the  gentle  way  that  won  every  one, 
yet  holding  her  head  like  the  queen  she  was,  com- 
plete mistress  of  herself  and  of  her  household.  John 
watched  her  moving  about,  speaking  to  each  with 
gracious  care,  and  again  as  she  served  coffee  at  the 
little  table,  with  the  light  from  the  tall  lamp  playing 
over  her  hair,  and  the  dear  small  Juliet  at  her  elbow, 
and  to  him  her  presence  was  the  all-pervading  one 
—  the  only  presence  in  that  great  old  room,  where 
in  childhood  he  had  hidden  himself  away,  and 
watched  lovely  ladies  in  glistening  foreign  silks, 
rustling  and  fanning  and  chattering  about  him. 
Portia,  in  simple  white,  with  a  touch  of  lilac  tulle  at 
her  throat  and  wrists,  her  graceful  head  a-tilt  over 
the  cups  and  saucers,  seemed  to  him  the  epitome 
of  all  the  grace  and  beauty,  the  graciousness  and 
queenliness,  the  gentleness  and  femininity  that  the 
great  old  drawing-room  had  ever  held  in  its  heart  in 


The  Blind  Woman's  Visit  273 

all  the  hundred  years  of  its  existence.  Ah,  it  was  a 
proud  little  head,  but  had  it  not  rested  on  his 
bosom?  and  the  soft  tint  in  her  cheeks,  had  he  not 
seen  it  deepen  for  him?  So  it  was  he  of  all  the 
guests  who  was  at  that  moment  consciously  and 
supremely  happy. 

Marguerite  drew  a  hassock  to  Mrs.  Wells'  feet. 
"  I  will  sit  here,"  she  said,  *'  where  you  can  touch  me 
if  you  wish  for  anything.  I  am  glad  you  stayed, 
for  now  you  can  hear  Miss  Van  Ostade  sing.  Oh,  she 
sings  charmingly,  and  they  have  other  music  also." 

**  And  you,  too,  sing  charmingly,  T  have  no  doubt." 

''Ah,  not  as  she  does,  do  I,  Aunt  Isabel?  " 

*'  She  certainly  sings  well  for  one  who  has  had  no 
advantages,  —  has  never  been  abroad,  you  know." 

*'  She  has  been  abroad,  mother,"  said  John,  bend- 
ing over  her  chair,  and  speaking  in  a  low  tone.  "  It 
was  in  Germany  that  I  first  saw  her,  and  she  got  her 
pronunciation  of  Italian  in  Italy." 

"  You  first  saw  her  in  Germany !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Marshal],  sharply. 

Portia  could  not  help  hearing  the  words  and 
guessing  their  import.  She  was  trying  to  extin- 
guish the  flame  of  the  lamp  under  the  shining  urn 
at  her  side,  and  an  awkward  movement  of  her  hand 
caused  her  to  drop  the  cover  and  burn  her  fingers. 

Hanford  Clark  stepped  quickly  forward  and  pick- 
ing up  the  little  brass  disk  placed  it  over  the  blaze. 
"  Let  me  take  these  cups  for  you,"  he  said.  **  Mrs. 
Wells  has  none;  shall  I  take  them?  Ah  !  you  have 
burned  yourself." 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  bit  her  lip  in  her  vexation, 
"  only  my  awkwardness." 
18 


274   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  then-  Heads 

Armed  with  his  errand,  he  took  himself  to  Mar- 
guerite's side.  "  Won't  you  introduce  me  to  your 
friend?  "  he  said. 

"  Gladly.  Have  n't  you  met  her  in  all  the  time 
you  have  been  here?  Mrs.  Wells,  this  is  Mr.  Clark, 
—  John's  friend,  you  know.  He  has  brought  your 
coffee." 

**  John's  friend?  Then  I  should  know  him,"  she 
held  out  her  hand,  and  he  placed  the  cup  in  it. 
*"'  No,  it  is  your  hand  I  want.  I  am  blind,  and  it 
is  only  by  the  touch  of  your  hand  and  the  sound 
of  your  voice  that  I  may  know  you,"  she  said 
pleasantly. 

"  Then  you  are  spared  all  unpleasant  sights,"  he 
said.  He  drew  a  chair  near,  and  began  conversing 
quietly.  Presently  he  turned  to  Marguerite,  *'  That 
was  kind  of  you  to  introduce  me  as  John's  friend." 
He  spoke  in  an  undertone,  during  the  confused  buzz 
of  general  conversation  about  them. 

**  Have  you  met  her  daughter?  She  is  talking  to 
Mr.  Russell.  Is  n't  she  like  an  old  picture,  the  way 
she  dresses  her  hair?" 

"  Charming." 

"  Then,  why  did  you  go  right  by  us  there  in  the 
garden,  if  you  think  so?  Mr.  Held  did  not,  and  he 
had  less  reason  for  stopping  than  you,  —  not  being 
so  old  an  acquaintance,  I  mean." 

**  Sometimes  the  newest  acquaintances  are  the 
most  agreeable." 

"  Of  course,  sometimes.    Was  that  why  you  passed  ^ 
me  by?  " 

*'  Marguerite,  are  you  going  to  tantalize  me  into 
doing  what  I  promised  you  I  would  not?" 


The  Blind  Woman's  Visit  275 

**  Oh,"  whispered  Marguerite,  "  the  pretty  blond 
plays  the  cornet,"  she  looked  toward  the  piano 
where  Mr.  Vedder  stood  with  a  French  horn  in  his 
hand,  and  Mrs.  Clare  was  turning  her  music. 

Portia  escaped  from  the  room,  and  leaned  against 
one  of  the  pillars  of  the  verandah.  Her  hand 
smarted  with  the  burn,  and  her  heart  with  the  sting 
of  that  sentence  which  she  had  heard,  and  the  tone 
of  displeased  surprise,  and  almost  of  contempt  which 
it  seemed  to  contain  for  her.  "  Oh,  if  she  would 
only  go  away  !  "  she  thought.  "  She  hates  me,  and 
she  always  will.  She  is  cruel,  wicked,  to  hate  me 
for  what  I  could  not  help."  Then  she  bethought 
that  Mrs.  Marshall  could  not  know  of  her  precious 
secret  yet,  and  she  was  unjust.  Yes,  she  would  keep 
on  trying  to  win  her,  but  she  was  sick  of  all  the  dis- 
tasteful life  she  was  leading.  She  felt  that  she 
ought  to  go  back  and  talk  to  Miss  Katherine,  and 
say  pleasant  things  to  a  little  lady  who  had  but  just 
arrived,  but  how  could  she  go  about  saying  aft'able 
things  in  this  mood,  and  with  the  consciousness  of 
those  critical  eyes  on  her, — that  languid,  watchful 
look,  that  seemed  to  be  indifferent,  yet  was  so  cat- 
like and  intent  after  all.  She  heard  the  wheeze  of 
the  cornet,  struggling  with  one  of  her  songs,  and 
she  pulled  impatiently  at  the  jasmine  \-ine,  crushing 
the  flowers  in  her  hands.  She  heard  a  step  near, 
but  did  not  move.  She  hoped  it  might  be  John, 
but  it  was  not. 

"Ah,  you  are  in  hiding, I  see.  I  missed  you  from 
the  circle  in  there.  When  you  go,  the  soul  of  the 
place  is  gone,  and  I  always  escape  myself." 

Portia  started  at  the  sound  of  the  voice,  and,  turn- 


276    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

ing  sharply,  looked,  with  an  almost  pitiful  expression 
of  entreaty,  into  the  face  of  her  silver-haired  lover. 
The  look  was  a  silent  entreaty  from  her  heart  to  be 
let  alone,  but  his  interpretation  of  it  was  different. 
"  You  are  weary.    No  wonder  you  hide." 

*'  Indeed,  no.     I  am  only  enjoying  the  fresh  air." 

"Let  me  fetch  you  a  chair,  and  enjoy  it  also." 
He  placed  two  chairs  just  beyond  the  light  which 
streamed  from  the  window.  "  Now,  this  is  charm- 
ing, to  sit  here  and  listen  to  the  music,"  he  rubbed 
his  hands  together  with  hearty  satisfaction. 

"  He  plays  oft"  the  key,"  she  said  with  a  little  ner- 
vous laugh. 

"  Yes,  yes.  A  sensitive  ear  must  suffer.  There  is 
where  we  coarser  organizations  have  a  certain  ad- 
vantage. Now  to  me  that  music  is  agreeable,  but  I 
see  its  defects,  of  course.  When  I  judge  of  music, 
I  can  judge  truly."  He  added  hastily,  "I  would  not 
have  you  to  think  I  judge  of  your  music  as  I  do  of 
this,  for  instance.  No,  no.  That  is  different  entirely." 
The  lamp  inside  was  moved  at  this  moment,  and  the 
rays  fell  on  his  beautiful  hair,  and  illumined  his  face. 
"  Now  yours  is  music.  Oh,  the  pity  of  it,  th^t  you 
should  be  shut  up  here  with  your  talent,  your 
genius,  and  only  selfish  people  get  the  benefit  of  it ! 
You  should  sing  for  the  whole  world.  You  should 
go  abroad,  and  then  come  home  and  bring  the  world 
to  your  feet.     You  should  — " 

''  Oh,  Mr.  Russell,  it  is  like  hearing  a  romance, 
but  I  must  not  dream  of  such  things,  nor  even  listen 
to  you.  At  this  very  minute  I  ought  to  be  looking 
after  the  comfort  of  my  guests.  To  sit  here  chatting 
does  not  fit  my  position."     She  rose  to  go. 


The  Blind  Woman's  Visit  277 

"  Your  position  go  hang,"  he  said  with  vehemence. 
*'  This  is  not  your  position,  —  I  beg  pardon,  but  you 
should  be  in  a  position  I  have  in  mind  for  you,  — 
one  that  is  fitted  for  you.     This  is  all  — " 

Portia  sank  back  trembling  into  the  chair,  without 
strength  to  move.  What  could  she  do?  How  could 
she  stop  him?     She  must,  —  but  he  went  on. 

"  That  is  right.  This  is  not  your  position,  it  is 
all  wrong.  Miss  Van  Ostade,  I  have  sought  this  op- 
portunity for  weeks.  Sometimes  I  almost  thought 
you  avoided  me,  but  that  it  stood  to  reason  you 
could  not  give  all  your  time  to  an  old  man,  when 
there  are  so  many  younger  claimants." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Russell,  it  was  never  your  age,  never," 
she  paused.  Was  it  possible  that  in  her  endeavor  to 
be  kind,  she  had  not  made  the  true  reason  of  her 
avoidance  clear  to  him? 

"I  understand;  no,  no.  Certainly  not;  and  I 
am  not  so  old,  neither.  My  heart  is  young  as  any 
man's.  Miss  Van  Ostade,  my  heart  is  at  your  feet. 
I  can  make  possible  all  the  dreams  I  have  laid 
before  you  and  more.  Let  me  make  you  mistress 
of  my  home,  and  place  my  fortune  in  your  hands. 
There  is  no  one  to  dispute  your  right.  Miss  Van 
Ostade,  I  can  command  my  millions,  yet  without 
you  they  are  worthless  to  me.  Just  let  me  enumerate 
to  you  —  " 

"  I  can't  listen  to  you ;  I  must  not.  I  was  out 
of  my  senses  to  sit  here  and  let  you  talk  to  me 
hke  this." 

"  Just  a  word,  a  word ;  I  am  not  so  old  as  my 
white  hair  would  indicate,  —  as  you  may  think,  —  and 
I  bring  you  a  cleaner  record  and  a  purer  heart  than 


278    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

many  a  younger  man.  Let  me  urge  you.  Think 
of  all  I  might  be  able  to  do  for  your  happiness,  for 
your  most  charming  mother.  While  now  you  have 
cares  without  number,  all  would  be  lifted  from  you, 
and  your  path  be  strewn  with  roses.  We  would 
travel,  and  revel  in  the  wonders  of  the  old  world, 
and  your  mother  would  grow  young  again,  —  so  also 
would  your  grandfather.  I  realize  his  worth.  I  feel 
what  you  in  your  pride  would  say  to  this ;  but  is  it 
right,  is  it  reasonable  that  you  should  throw  away 
their  happiness  as  well  as  mine,  by  a  refusal?" 

"  Mr.  Russell,  I  am  not  to  be  bought  and  sold," 
she  said,  rising  to  her  feet,  and  looking  at  him  as 
she  had  not  dared  before.  Noting  the  pain  in  his 
face,  instantly  her  pride  and  resentment  changed  to 
a  feeling  of  gratitude  and  genuine  sorrow.  "  For- 
give me  for  those  words ;  they  were  too  harsh." 
She  seated  herself,  and  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her 
chair  brought  her  face  nearer  his.  *'  You  deserve 
a  different  answer.  Will  you  be  satisfied  if  I  give 
you  a  glimpse  into  my  heart?  It  is  but  fair,  since 
I  have  allowed  you  to  say  this  to  me.  I  cannot  give 
you  what  only  a  true  woman  should  give  to  the  man 
she  would  marry.  You  are  too  good  a  man  to  be 
so  treated,  or  to  wish  me  anything  but  happiness. 
I  cannot  give  you  my  heart;  it  is  not  mine.  I  love 
some  one  else  very  deeply.  This  is  a  confidence 
which  now  you  alone  of  all  the  world  have.  Even 
my  mother,  I  have  kept  it  from  her.  You  will 
understand  now  why  I  should  avoid  you  ;  it  is  not 
your  age,  it  is  not  yourself,  believe  me.  It  is,  it  — 
Oh,  why  should  this  be?  Why  should  you  care  so 
much?     There  are  lovely  women  who  are  famishing 


The  Blind  Woman's  Visit  279 

for  just  such  true  love  as  you  have  laid  at  my  feet. 
Why  should  such  treasure  be  offered  me  (I  am  not 
worthy  of  it),  and  they  be  denied?  " 

The  old  man  made  no  answer.  He  sat  with  his 
head  bowed  in  his  hands,  stunned.  He  had  not 
thought  a  refusal  possible.  He  had  passed  the  last 
few  weeks  in  one  long  dream  of  happiness,  and 
now  the  shock  seemed  rude  indeed.  At  last  Portia 
could  not  bear  the  silence  and  spoke  again,  trying 
to  make  her  refusal  seem  more  gracious. 

'*  I  could  have  given  you  all  you  ask,  if  it  were 
not  for  this  greater  love,  believe  me,  I  could.  There 
are  many  more  worthy  than  I ;  won't  you  give  to 
some  one  else  the  treasure  I  mast  not  have,  and 
so  bring  blessedness  to  yourself  as  well  as  to 
another? " 

**  Miss  Van  Ostade,  there  is  but  one  woman   in 
the  world  for  me."     He  rose,  took  her  hand  in  his  ^  .a.*^/^«< 
f    for  a  moment,  and  then  bending  low  over  it  kissed  it.  <}•  ^^^  '^ 


**  Pardon   me,"  he    said,  and  turning   abruptly  left   L 
her.     ,     -^  ^ 


f 


CHAPTER  XXI 
MARGUERITE    SETS    THE    FASHION 

AS  the  season  wore  along,  guests  flocked  to  the 
old  home  from  the  far  South,  while  a  few  of  the 
Northern  boarders  remained  the  summer  through; 
and  it  was  not  long  before  Portia  could  count 
among  the  inmates  of  the  house  individuals  who 
had  gathered  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe. 
The  air  of  reserve  and  criticism  which  had  entered 
the  place  with  the  advent  of  Mrs.  Marshall  soon 
passed.  It  had  swept  through  the  little  gathering 
like  a  contagious  disease,  worn  itself  out,  and  was 
gone,  before  the  more  oblivious  of  the  guests  knew 
it  had  been  among  them.  Although  protesting 
she  had  never  been  so  wretchedly  situated  in  her 
life,  Mrs.  Marshall  settled  herself  for  the  summer 
in  the  pleasant  rooms  which  had  been  prepared 
especially  for  her  comfort. 

*'It  is  more  the  service  than  it  is  the  rooms,"  she 
complained  to  John  one  day  as  he  waited  at  her 
door,  lingering  until  he  should  hear  Portia's  step  in 
the  hall  below,  for  the  sake  of  a  touch  of  her  hand 
as  he  passed  out.  He  seldom  could  get  a  word 
with  her  these  busy  days. 

'*  The  service !  Why,  I  have  seen  Miss  Van 
Ostade  bringing  you  things  with  her  own  hands." 

His  mother  laughed.  "  You  seem  to  think  that  the 
greatest  honor  that  could  happen  to  any  one.     It 

280 


Marguerite  Sets  the  Fashion        281 

only  shows  she  is  no  lady.  She  should  send  a  maid. 
It  would  be  far  pleasanter  for  me,  I  am  sure." 

''Well,  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes,"  he  said 
with  a  shrug. 

"  So  I  think,  at  least  for  yours." 

"  I  must  go,"  he  said  hurriedly.  He  thought  he 
heard  Portia's  step  in  the  lower  hall.  "  I  have  a  man 
on  to  decorate  the  grand  salon  at  the  hotel  to-day, 
so  I  may  not  be  in  again.  He  is  a  wonder  at  the 
work ;  you  must  try  to  drive  over  and  see  it. 
Good-bye." 

He  found  Portia  at  the  far  end  of  the  piazza 
trying  to  put  up  a  hammock  that  had  been  broken 
down  the  night  before. 

"  Good-morning,  good-morning.  What  are  you 
frying  to  do?"  he  said  cheerily,  taking  the  hammer 
from  her  hand.  '*  Now,  where  do  you  wish  this 
put?  Here  where  it  was  before?  Why  you  can't 
do  it  with  this;   you  need  an  auger  and  bit." 

''  Yes,  I  see  I  do.  Never  mind ;  I  will  wait  until 
grandfather  comes."  The  wail  of  his  violin  floated 
down  to  them  from  an  upper  window.  She  pushed 
the  hammock  from  her  with  a  little  sigh.  She  was 
tired  that  morning  in  brain  and  body.  She  did  not 
glance  up,  for  she  felt  his  eyes  on  her  and  knew  the 
wistful  look  in  them.  "  I  did  not  know  you  were 
here,"  she  said,  standing  a  little  apart  and  slowly 
winding  her  handkerchief  about  her  hand.  He 
pulled  it  gently  off  and  disclosed  a  great  red  bruise 
across  her  fingers,  and  his  heart  was  touched.  His 
mother's  bitter  words  still  rung  in  his  ears.  *'  She 
shows  she  is  no  lady  by  doing  such  things;  "  and 
their  injustice  and  cruelty  stung  him.     He  flung  the 


282    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

hammer  over  the  piazza  raihng  and  seized  her  hands 
almost  savagely. 

"  Portia,  these  are  mine ;  you  are  mine.  You 
shall  not  be  doing  these  things  when  I  am  here  to 
prevent.  I  say  these  hands  are  mine,  and  all  this 
work  must  stop.  It  is  cruel."  She  grew  white  to 
the  lips,  and  tried  weakly  to  pull  her  hands  away. 
He  raised  the  bruised  fingers  and  kissed  them. 
"  Say  it  shall  stop,"  he  said  tenderly. 

*'  Oh,  John,  I  can't.  I  see  no  way  to  stop. 
I  must  keep  on,  perhaps  for  years.  There  is  no  one 
else  for  them  to  depend  on,  and  they  must  not  know 
of  this ;  I  must  keep  on  if  it  kills  me,  and  you  —  " 
She  bit  her  lip  to  keep  back  the  tears  and  regain 
self-control. 

**  And  I  ? "  He  bent  over  her,  looking  into  her 
eyes,  but  she  kept  them  fixed  on  the  distant  hills, 
and  tried  again  to  release  her  hands. 

"  I  cannot  ask  you  to  wait  for  me ;  it  is  too  much. 
Oh,  John,  let  everything  be  as  it  was,  —  as  if — it 
never  had  happened." 

''As  if  what  never  had  happened?" 

**  Oh,  you  know.  Don't  look  at  me.  Let  me 
have  my  hands  to  cover  my  face." 

"  Portia,  tell  me  what  has  happened."  She  was 
silent.  All  the  world  was  silent.  No  flutter  of  a 
leaf,  nor  twitter  of  a  bird,  —  only  the  distant  plaint 
of  her  grandfather's  violin,  as  if  to  keep  her  in 
mind  of  her  obligations.  The  earth  slept  in  the 
warm  morning  sun.  His  mother,  reclining  on  her 
couch  with  the  shades  drawn,  was  slowly  fanning 
herself  and  listening  to  Clare  reading  aloud,  a 
French  novel,  in  her  native  tongue. 


Marguerite  Sets  the  Fashion        283 

"  Tell  me,  Portia,"  he  said  again  exultantly,  "  what 
has  happened?  I  want  to  hear  it  from  your  lips, 
over  and  over,  or  sing  it  to  me.  It  is  fit  for  music, 
—  our  hearts  are  full  of  it.  Come,  or  I  will  kiss  you 
again  as  I  did  that  morning." 

Portia  gave  a  half-frightened  look  around.  '*  No, 
no,  John;  give  me  back  my  hands.  Some  one  — 
your  mother's  maid  might  be  —  might  see  you.  I 
seem  to  feel  her  eyes  on  me  all  the  time  lately, 
wherever  I  am." 

"  They  are  making  you  miserable  with  their 
.  whims.  They  shall  not  stay  here,  if  I  have  to  leave 
the  place  myself.  This  is  downright  deviltry. 
I'll—" 

'*  No,  no ;  if  I  cannot  win  her,  I  am  not  worthy 
of  you.  She  cannot  help  her  prejudices,  and  — 
well  —  if  you  were  to  tell  her  now  what  you  have 
done,  without  giving  me  time  to  overcome  them, 
she  will  never  forgive  you,  and  there  will  be  an  end." 

"  Portia  !  Let  my  mother  come  between  you  and 
me?  Never.  She  has  not  controlled  my  life  in  the 
past;   why  should  she  now?" 

The  cat  lay  on  the  railing,  with  her  forepaws 
curled  in,  sleepily  blinking  at  them.  Portia  turned 
away  from  her  lover  and  gently  stroked  pussy's  fur, 
and  laid  her  flushed  cheek  against  it  before  she 
replied.  She  could  not  understand  how  one  so  warm- 
hearted and  impulsive  could  stand  in  such  relations 
to  his  mother,  and  it  troubled  her. 

**  But  she  is  your  mother,  and  you  love  her,  and 
she  is  so  frail.  If  this  would  make  her  miserable, 
we  never  could  build  up  our  happiness  on  such  a. 
foundation." 


284    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"You  are  an  angel,  and  ordinary  mortals  cannot 
keep  up  with  you.  But,  Portia,  I  can't  look  at  this 
as  you  would  have  me.  I  tell  you  no  one  is  going 
to  be  made  miserable  unless  it  be  you  and  I,  if  I 
should  listen  to  you.  When  the  summer  is  over, 
if  mother  is  —  if  you  have  not  succeeded,  my  beau- 
tiful, promise  me  that  no  earthly  thing  or  being 
shall  stand  between  us.     Promise  me  !  " 

*'  John,  I  do  love  you,  oh,  I  do.  Is  n't  that 
enough  —  till  then?" 

**  Give  me  the  promise  too,  quick ! "  he  said, 
seizing  the  hands  she  impulsively  held  out  to  him. 
"  Some  one  is  coming  over  the  hill  yonder,  —  some 
of  your  precious  boarders  riding  back.  Listen. 
There  is  no  one  on  earth  who  can  come  between 
you  and  me.  You  must  not  think  I  do  not  love  my 
mother,  —  I  do  ;  but  she  shall  not  come  between  us  ; 
and  as  for  your  own,  if  you  are  happy,  they  will  be. 
You  think  they  have  no  one  to  turn  to  who  w^ould 
care  for  them  so  lovingly?  That  is  because  you 
do  not  half  believe  in  me,  Portia.  Don't  look  at 
that  cloud  of  dyst;  look  in  my  eyes  and  see  how  I 
lovG  you."  H^f/t^^^-'^    'UjU  ..y  C^O    ij 

"  I  believe  in  you  as  I  believe  in  my  own  soul, 
John.  It  is  not  that.  I  can  give  myself  to  you,  but 
not  them.  I  must  keep  right  on  doing  my  work  — 
for  a  time  at  least." 

"  I  will  not  torment  your  conscience  any  more, 
sweetheart.  Go  on  doing  your  work  in  your  own 
brave  way,  but,  hark,  when  the  summer  is  over, 
before  another  year  is  begun,  I  am  going  to  marry 
you,  love,  in  this  house  where  I  was  born.  If 
rnother  becomes  reconciled,  well  and  good;   if  not, 


Marguerite  Sets  the  Fashion        285 

she  may  go  to  —  Cuba,  as  she  usually  does,  and 
leave  me  to  my  own  way.  My  will  is  as  strong 
as  hers,  and  you  are  the  sweetest  woman  in  the 
world,  and  you  are  mine.  There  !  kiss  me.  You 
can't  help  yourself.  They  are  coming  now. 
Good-bye." 

As  he  rode  rapidly  away,  he  saw  Clare  throw 
open  the  blind  of  his  mother's  wide  French  window, 
opening  onto  the  upper  gallery  of  the  piazza.  She 
stepped  quietly  out,  and  leaning  over  the  railing 
looked  down  on  Portia,  standing  among  the  honey- 
suckle vines  in  her  simple  white  dress,  and  saw  her 
blow  a  kiss  at  him,  lifting  the  bruised  hand  to  her 
lips,  —  the  hai;iL-li£-iiad -kissed.  He  returned  the 
gentle  salute,  and  then. with  a  backward  glance  at 
the  m^^above  rode  on.  A  moment  later,  the 
guests  whom  they  had  watched  a  few  minutes  before 
turning  a  distant  curve,  came  galloping  up  the  drive, 
and  Clare  re-entered  her  mistress's  room. 

*'Who  rode  away  just  now?"  said  Mrs.  Marshall. 

"  Ce  votre  his,  madam.' 

"Was  he  alone?" 

The  maid  lifted  her  shoulders.  "Je  suppose, 
madam ;   he  rode  le  seul."  >,^ 

"Yes,  yes.  But  —  he  must  have  waited  for  some 
reason;   was  there  no  one  below?  " 

"  Oh,  oui.  Je  pense,  de  mees,  que,  keeps  dis 
place,  la."  *  -  -.-  *" 

"  The  hussy  !     Where  was  she?  " 

"  EUe  caress'Te  chat,  —  le  pussee."  Through  the 
feminine  instinct  of  helping  on  a  love  affair,  and 
partly  through  natural  kindness  of  heart,  Clare  pur- 
posed to  give  only  as  much  information  as  would 


286    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

satisfy  her  mistress,  and  kept  her  lips  discreetly 
closed  on  the  rest.  Moreover,  she  felt  that  John 
Marshall  fully  comprehended  the  situation  and 
knew  she  had  been  sent  to  look  just  when  she  did, 
and  she  would  not  be  compromised  in  his  eyes. 
She  would  be  able  to  defend  herself,  should  he 
speak  of  it. 

**  I  will  go  down,  Clare ;  bring  me  the  loose  gown 
with  the  lace.  No,  not  that  one ;  the  white  with 
black  lace.     It  is  too  warm  for  anything  else." 

Marguerite  came  bounding  into  the  little  sitting- 
room  bc3'ond  and  threw  herself  upon  the  couch  in 
her  habit.  "Oh,  it  is  so  warm!  "  she  said,  fanning 
her  flushed  face. 

**  Then  why  do  you  ride  in  such  heat?  " 
"  Oh,  but  we  had  a  glorious  time.     Mr.  Held  is 
just  handsome  on  horseback.     He  looks  better  than 
he  does  off,  like  Napoleon.     If  he  were  only  a  little 
taller,  he  would  be  handsome,  anyway." 

**John  was  in  asking  for  you.  He  seemed  sur- 
prised that  I  should  allow  you  to  go  off  in  this  way 
with  any  one  you  happen  to  pick  up  at  a  boarding- 
house.  Why  don't  you  go  with  him  ever,  these 
days?" 

**  Why  don't  I?  How  can  I?  He  is  so  taken  up 
with  his  old  hotel.  He  would  better  look  after  him- 
self a  little,  I  think."  She  bit  her  lip  and  glanced 
quickly  at  her  aunt  and  then  at  the  maid,  who  was 
standing  behind  her  gently  brushing  the  long  gray 
hair,  still  plentifully  sprinkled  with  black.  Clare, 
answering  the  glance,  lightly  touched  her  closed  lips 
with  her  finger.  Ah,  quick-tempered  little  Mar- 
guerite !   she  had  sent  a  shaft  she  had  not  intended. 


Marguerite  Sets  the  Fashion        287 

**  Look  after  himself?  What  do  you  mean?" 
said  Mrs.  Marshall,  sharply. 

**  I  mean  what  I  say.  He  need  n't  be  looking 
after  me  and  criticising  me.  He  acts  just  as  he  did 
in  Europe,  tormenting  me  almost  to  death  with  his 
superior  ways.  If  that  hotel  and  two  or  three  hun- 
dred workmen  aren't  enough  for  him  to  attend  to 
here,  I  would  like  to  know.  Oh,  that  makes  me 
think  —  we  are  going  to  have  a  lot  of  fun.  The 
dining-room  there  is  all  finished  and  cleared,  and  John 
has  sent  for  music,  —  good  music,  you  know,  —  and 
we  are  to  have  a  dance  to-morrow  night.  Just  our- 
selves, and  a  few  of  the  nice,  real  old  families  around 
here..  Mr.  Chaplain  knows  them  all,  so  he  invites 
them,  you  know.  He  and  John  are  giving  it  them- 
selves, only  Miss  Van  Ostade  is  to  send  over  the 
refreshments.  She  gets  her  supplies  from  some  big 
place  somewhere.     She  is  a  perfect  angel." 

"  Very  charming,  certainly,  but  that  is  her  business, 
you  know." 

*'  You  are  so  cold,  aunt.     I  say  she  is  lovely." 

"Very  true;  it  is  her  business  to  be  so.  Think 
what  she  must  make  out  of  us." 

'*  Oh,  hum  !  I  can't,  for  the  life  of  me,  see  why 
she  should  be  so  different  from  everybody  else 
just  because  she  keeps  boarders.  Anyway,  her 
business  will  be  gone  as  soon  as  the  new  hotel  is 
opened." 

"  Oh,  no.  There  are  plenty  of  stupid  people  who 
would  rather  come  to  a  place  of  this  kind." 

**  But  you  don't  take  any  interest  in  the  dance, 
aunt.  I  tell  you,  it  will  be  swell.  Let's  see:  there 
are  forty  boarders  here,  and  there  will  be  at  least  as 


vJi 


288    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

many  more  from  outside;  John  says  there  will  be 
about  a  hundred  people  there,  the  swellest  kind  of 
people." 

"  And  some  who  are  not  so  swell." 
"  Oh,  of  course.     Mr.  Held  has  asked  me  for  the 
first  dance  and  the  last,  so  you  see  —  " 

**  I    see.     All    graver    interests    must  stand  aside 
Jnow,  for  a  while,  for  Mr.   Held." 
"Certainly,  for  a  while,  you  know." 
^.  J     "  Marguerite,    are    you     never    going    to    be    in 
earnest?" 

*'  Yes,  aunt.     I  am  very  serious  now.    I  am  going 
to  teach  him  a  valuable  lesson." 

**  One  of  these  days  you  will  find  you  have  made 
f     a  grave  mistake.  Marguerite.     I  —  " 

"  Oh,  aunt,  don't  preach.     I  like  scolding  better. 
You  look  so  handsome  when  you  scold,  —  as  if  you 
could  thrust  a  stiletto  into  your  lover's  heart,  and  so 
^  forth.     I  think  I  will  write  a  novel,  aunt,  just  to  put 

"^  you  in  it.     You  would  make  a  splendid  —  " 

'*  Marguerite,  don't  chatter.     You  look  so  warm 
in  that  habit ;   take  it  off  and  put  on  a  thin  dress." 

She    sprang   up    and    kissed    her   aunt.     "  Much 
better  advice  than  you  were  going  to  give,  aunt  dear, 
and  I  will  take  it.    I  won't  wear  this  habit  any  more 
V  when  I   ride ;   I  will  wear  a  gingham  dress   and    a 

^S  black  sunbonnet,  as  the  natives  do  around  here." 

-  "  Oh,  mademoiselle,  je  proteste,"  exclaimed  Clare, 

J  holding  up  both  hands. 

I         ^f  "  That  is  right,  Clare  ;  you  look  well  when  you  are 

protesting."  •vA^,.t> 

I        '^  v^..  *'  Mais,   j'implore !      Votre   beautiful    light    blue 
:s~      ^       ginkham,  vis  ze  lace,  ze  ribonne,  I  can  never  put  her 


Marguerite  Sets  the  Fashion       289 

on  you  more,  ven  you  haf  gone  on  le  cheval  wis  ze 
dress." 

**  Not  that  one ;  don't  be  troubled.  I  am  going  to 
get  a  plaid  gingham  at  Mr.  Hackett's  general  store, 
and  you  may  make  it  up  for  me.  That  and  a  great 
white  apron  and  a  black  sunbonnet,  —  that  is  the 
fashion  here  in  America,  Clare.  You  know  you  like 
to  be  in  the  fashion." 

"  Oui,  mademoiselle,  mais  je  n'aime  pas  this 
fashion  ci." 

Marguerite  was  as  good  as  her  word,  and  Clare, 
amid  mock  tears  and  protestations,  fashioned  the 
dress  with  her  deft  fingers,  which  her  young  mistress 
wore  with  bewitching  grace  on  all  her  mountain 
excursions  for  the  rest  of  the  season.  Indeed,  her 
example  was  followed  by  all  the  women  boarders 
who  dared  risk  their  charms  in  such  a  costume ;  and 
Mr.  Hackett  was  obliged  to  lay  in  a  new  stock  of 
gingham  to  supply  the  native  trade. 


19 


CHAPTER  XXII 

CONFIDENCES 

N^OTHING  was  talked  of  but  the  prospective 
dance  at  the  lunch  tables  that  day. 

"  Your  daughter  will  be  overtired  if  she  has  the 
refreshments  to  look  after,  in  addition  to  all  she  has 
to  care  for  here,"  said  a  pleasant  old  lady  to  Mrs. 
Van  Ostade. 

*'  The  ladies  have  very  kindly  offered  to  assist,  and 
Miss  Wells  will  be  over  this  afternoon.  They  will 
divide  the  duties  among  them." 

At  Portia's  table  the  matter  of  refreshments  was 
being  discussed  sotto  voce,  until  Mrs.  Barry's  clear 
tones  struck  an  anxious  chord  with  the  words,  "  No 
celery  !   but  what  are  we  to  do  for  salad?  " 

"Why  can't  we  get  some?  You  get  it,  Miss  Van 
Ostade ;  we  had  it  yesterday,"  chimed  in  Miss 
Keller. 

"  Mine  is  gone,  and  we  have  no  time  to  order 
more,"  replied  Portia,  in  a  low  voice ;  and  the  con- 
versation dropped  to  its  former  undertone. 

"  Oh,  I  see." 

**  Well,  then,  what's  to  be  done?" 

"  Substitute  something  else." 

"  Oh,  no.  We  must  have  salad,  and  we  must  have 
celery,"  said  Mrs.  Barry. 

"We  will  think  about  it  and  contrive,"  said  Portia. 
"  Certainly  we  should  have  it." 

290 


Confidences  291 

As  they  passed  out,  to  gather  on  the  piazza, 
Hanford  Clark  stepped  to  Portia's  side. 

''Can  I  help  you?"  he  asked.  **  I  knew  a  man 
who  used  to  raise  it,  only  he  lives  over  at  the 
Gap." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Ridgeway ;  "  a  man  by  the  name 
of  Homer  raises  it,  but  it  would  mean  a  ride  of  fully 
twenty-four  miles,  there  and  back.  We  might  send 
a  boy,  unless  the  horse  is  needed  here,  Portia." 

Marguerite  came  and  slipped  her  arm  about 
Portia's  waist.     "What  is  it?"  she  said. 

"  It  is  what  is  n't,"  said  Portia,  giving  a  caressing 
touch  to  Marguerite's  hair.  "  We  are  speaking 
of  what  we  shall  regale  ourselves  withal,  at  the 
dance  to-morrow  night.  There  is  no  celery  for  the 
salad." 

"  Scour  the  mountains.  Send  couriers  in  all 
directions  to  hunt  for  celery,"  said  Mr.  Held. 

"  That  is  grandfather's  suggestion." 

''  There  is  an  English  gardener  stranded  over  at 
the  Gap,"  said  Hanford. 

"  That  is  the  place  to  go,  then,"  said  Mr.  Betts. 
"  We  might  make  up  a  party,  and  ride  over.  How 
far  is  it?" 

"  Twelve  miles  or  near  it,"  said  Hanford.  "  I  will 
go  if  you  wish.  Miss  Van  Ostade ;  I  shall  not  be  at  the 
station  for  the  rest  of  the  day." 

"  You  must  not  spend  all  your  leisure  doing 
errands  for  me,  you  have   so  little." 

'*  Oh,  but  this  is  for  all,  and  if  I  had  company  on 
the  trip  —  " 

Marguerite  was  as  well  aware  of  the  quick  glance 
he  sent  in  her  direction  as  if  she  had  seen  it.     Mr. 


292    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Held  was  talking  to  her,  and  she  was  looking  in  his 
face.  Hanford  did  not  hear  what  he  was  saying, 
but  his  own  face  darkened,  and  he  turned  away  as 
he  heard  her  reply. 

"  Yes,  we  had  an  awfully  good  time,  but  I  had  a 
lecture  from  aunt  when  we  got  home  for  going  with 
you  this  morning,  so  I  dare  not  try  it  so  soon  again ; 
anyway,  I  am  tired,  and  it  is  hot." 

"  Then  may  I  ask  what  you  are  intending  to  do 
the  rest  of  the  day?"  Mr.  Held  still  spoke  in  an 
undertone. 

'•  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  usually  do  what  I  don't 
expect  to  do,  so  if  I  could  tell  you,  you  would  be 
none   the  wiser." 

Hanford  moved  away  to  avoid  overhearing  further, 
and  accosted  Mrs.  Barry,  who  sat  under  a  network 
of  vines,  embroidering  and  chatting  with  Mrs.  Van 
Ostade.  "  I  don't  know  that  I  blame  them,"  she  was 
saying.  "  Mrs.  Wells  tells  me  the  rising  generation 
are  an  utterly  irresponsible  class,  —  absolutely  good 
for  nothing." 

**  Portia  has  managed  to  find  a  use  for  some  of 
them.  Of  course  they  needed  training,"  said  the 
elder  woman. 

**  Ah,  but  that  is  Portia,  not  the  rising  generation. 
She  could  make  sticks  and  stones  rise  up  and  do 
her  bidding.     But  you  know  they  all  will  steal." 

"  I  suppose  they  came  up  with  the  notion  that 
everything  they  could  la)^  hands  on  was  theirs,  and 
that  their  masters'  goods  were  their  own,  by  right  of 
their  working  without  pay." 

"  May  I  join  you?  "  said  Hanford,  seating  himself 
on  the  piazza  railing. 


« 


Confidences  293 

We  shall  be  delighted,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Ostade. 
"  Draw  up  that  large  chair.  You  are  not  comfort- 
able so." 

"  I  am  very  happy  here,"  he  said,  in  polite  fiction, 
for  he  was  at  that  moment  most  miserable,  as  Mar- 
guerite chattered  and  laughed  with  the  young  artist, 
who  was  preparing  to  work  on  a  sketch  of  her  head, 
begun  the  day  before,  while  the  other  guests  looked 
on. 

"  Of  course  he  is,"  said  Mrs,  Barry.  **  Men  are 
always  most  happy  when  they  are  uncomfortable. 
Why  do  you  ask  him  to  take  an  easy-chair  when  he 
is  so  pleasantly  uncomfortable  where  he  is?  " 

Hanford  laughed.  '*  I  am  very  well  off  here,  and 
in  no  mood  for  an  easy-chair.     You  are  right." 

*'  We  were  talking  of  the  negro  nuisance,  so  to 
speak.     I  think  they  are  the  curse  of  the  South." 

"  As  they  have  always  been,"  he  responded. 
"  A  unique  opinion  for  a  Northern  woman  to  hold." 

'*  I  know,  but  I  hold  it  all  the  same.  There  are 
two  sides  to  the  question,  and  I  am  sure  Mr.  Barry 
will  agree  with  me  when  he  comes  down.  I  don't 
blame  people  of  the  South  for  their  feeling  towards 
them." 

''  You  don't  think  it  possible  for  them  to  be 
educated  into  responsible  members  of  society, 
then?" 

"  They  would  have  to  be  educated  a  thousand 
years  before  I  would  be  willing  to  admit  them  to  my 
society." 

''  And  then  you  would  be  rather  old  for  society," 
said  Portia,  who  had  joined  them  and  stood  by  her 
mother's    chair.      "  Mamma   deary,    here   is    your 


294    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

tonic.  I  found  it  by  your  plate.  You  forgot  it 
this  noon." 

Mrs.  Van  Ostade  took  the  tiny  glass,  and  the  look 
she  gave  her  daughter  was  pathetic  in  its  tenderness. 
Portia  stooped  and  kissed  her  lightly  on  the  cheek, 
and  touched  the  fine  gray  hair,  and  arranged  the 
lace  at  her  neck.  "  I  must  pet  mamma  now  and 
then,"  she  said  with  a  slight  flush,  as  she  caught 
Hanford's  eyes  fixed  on  her  with  smiling  regard. 

"  I  think  we  are  all  inclined  to  envy  you  the 
privilege,"  he  said  gallantly.  "  And  now,"  he 
glanced  at  his  watch,  **  would  you  like  me  to  drive 
over  to  the  Gap  for  you,  or  are  they  going  to  make 
up  a  party,  as  Mr.  Betts  proposed  ? " 

**  No,  no  one  else  is  going;  but  it  is  a  shame  to 
let  you  drive  away  over  there,  just  at  a  venture,  this 
hot  afternoon." 

**  It  will  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure.  I  will 
start  immediately." 

"  If  you  go  now,  you  will  be  back  for  dinner,  will 
you  not  ?  " 

*'  I  may  possibly  wait  until  the  cool  of  the  even- 
ing before  I  drive  home." 

"  It  will  be  far  pleasanter,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Ostade. 

'*  Good-bye,  then,  until  to-night.  By  the  way, 
what   have   you    on   for   this   evening?" 

"  Nothing  much,"  said  Portia. 

"  Indeed,  we  are  to  picnic  over  there  on  the  lawn 
where  the  trees  with  the  seats  are,  and  the  negroes 
are  to  give  us  a  concert,"  said  Mrs.  Barry. 

'*  I  didn't  think  Mr.  Clark  would  care  for  that." 

"  I  always  enjoy  your  httle  impromptu  events,  and 
I  most  certainly  will  return  in  time." 


Confidences  295 

As  he  approached  the  group  near  the  artist, 
Marguerite  looked  up,  and  his  eyes  met  hers  with  a 
grave  look.  He  said  nothing,  and  scarcely  glanced 
at  the  sketch  as  he  passed. 

**  He  need  n't  be  so  cross,"  she  thought.  **  I  don't 
care.  He  may  snub  me  all  he  likes,  but  he  sha'n't 
rule  me,  I  will  do  what  I  please."  She  pouted, 
and  for  an  instant  forgot  artist,  sketch,  the  guests 
who  clustered  around,  and  even  her  own  important 
part.  She  was  with  Hanford  again  in  the  coolness 
and  shadows  as  she  was  on  that  first  evening.  "  I 
don't  care,"  she  said  to  herself,  but  she  did  care. 

"  Ah,  I  am  losing  likeness,  I  fear,"  said  the  artist, 
impatiently.  *'  Or  her  expression  has  all  changed. 
Miss  McLourie,  will  you  have  the  kindness  to  — 
there,  that  is  better.  The  expression  you  wore  a 
moment  ago,  please.  The  shade  of  a  smile,  and 
the  lips  slightly  parted  —  " 

"  Mr.  Held  thinks,  evidently,  that  my  expressions 
are  Paris  made,  to  put  off  and  on  like  my  hats. 
Thank  you,  sir.     Very  complimentary,  surely." 

**  Now  —  no.  Miss  McLourie.  That  really  is  too 
bad.  Just  tip  your  head  a  little,  please.  Ah !  I 
had  such  a  beautiful  pose  here." 

"Such  a  beautiful  pose,  Miss  McLourie;  pray 
don't  spoil  it,"  chimed  in  Miss  Keller. 

"Are  you  nearly  through?  I  am  so  warm  and 
thirsty." 

All  were  too  intent  to  heed  her  little  complaint, 
so,  flushed  and  a  trifle  impatient,  she  tipped  her 
pretty  head  and  sat  still.     Presently  she  rose. 

"You  surely  will  spare  me  for  a  moment;  I  am 
going   for    a  fan.     This  heat   is  intolerable;  "  and 


296    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

before  the  gentlemen  had  time  to  beg  her  pardon 
for  their  thoughtlessness,  she  was  gone. 

Mr.  Held  hurriedly  dashed  in  a  little  background 
and  drapery  during  her  absence.  In  the  long  hall 
she  met  Hanford  with  a  glass  of  water.  "  I  heard 
you  say  you  were  thirsty  after  I  passed,  a  moment 
ago,"  he  said. 

"  I  was  dying  for  a  glass  of  water,  and  they  did  n't 
one  of  them  care.     Thank  you." 

"  Naturally  they  forget  everything  when  they 
have  you  before  them  with  the  privilege  of  dissect- 
ing your  loveliness." 

"  It  is  n't  nice  of  you  to  put  it  so." 

"No,  it  isn't  nice,  I  know;  but  —  Marguerite, 
don't  run  away  from  me  —  I  only  want  a  word ; 
come   back   again." 

"  I  am  going  for  my  fan,"  she  said,  tapping  im- 
patiently on  the  step  with  her  foot  and  leaning  over 
the  railing;  ''speak  to  me  here." 

"  I  am  going  over  to  Pine  Gap  in  the  light  rig. 
Will  you  go?  It  will  be  cooler  in  an  hour,  and 
delightful.  Must  I  go  alone?"  He  mounted  the 
stair  with  his  long  legs  three  steps  at  a  time,  and 
stood  beside  her. 

'*  Why,  no,  not  necessarily;  you  can  ask  some  one 
else;  I  have  promised  this  sitting  now." 

"  Marguerite."  She  looked  at  him  with  a  defiant 
flash  in  her  eyes.  "  Give  me  a  privilege  now  and 
then.     I  am  keeping  my  promise,  am  I  not?" 

**  You  have  immense  privileges.  No  one  dare 
say  what  you  said  to  me  a  moment  since;  and  as 
for  keeping  your  promise,  you  either  ignore  me 
entirely  or  look  at  me  as  if —  as  if —  "  she  paused. 


Confidences  297 

*'  Go  on,  please ;  how  do  I  look?  " 

**  You  contrive  in  some  way  to  make  me  feel 
guilty,  as  if  I  had  been  stealing,  or  —  " 

He  smiled.  "  I  never  meant  to  arraign  you  for 
a  little  thief,  though  you  have  stolen  from  me.  I 
don't  want  it  back,  only  something  more  pre- 
cious instead.  There,  don't  run;  I  am  keeping 
my  promise,  and  I  ask  for  nothing  but  this  drive 
and  a  dance  to-morrow  night.  Give  me  two,  the 
first    and    the    last.       You    grant    that    much    to 


strangers." 


"  But  those  two  are  both  promised." 

His  face  darkened.  "  And  you  won't  drive  with 
me?" 

*'  I  can't.  I  am  keeping  Mr.  Held  waiting  as  it 
is.  My  loveliness  is  to  be  still  further  dissected  by 
a  crowd  of  boarders ;  there  will  be  nothing  left  of 
it  by  the  time  you  return.  There,  that  is  too  bad ! 
Don't  frown."  She  darted  on  up  the  dingy  old 
stairway,  a  dream  in  a  cloud  of  sheer  white  and 
rose-colored  ribbons,  pausing  only  at  the  top  to 
look  down  out  of  the  obscurity  and  shoot  one  more 
little  arrow  into  his  poor  foolish  heart.  **  I  am 
glad  to  be  free,  and  do  just  as  I  please.  Farewell," 
and  she  was  gone  like  a  bird  escaped  from  the 
snare.  An  impulse  of  tenderness  seized  her  the 
next  moment,  and  she  tiptoed  back  to  the  stairway 
and  looked  down;  but  he  was  gone.  "Well,  I 
don't  care,"  she  said  once  more  to  herself,  but  she 
did  care.     Ah,  if  he  had  known  how  much ! 

She  hurried  to  her  room,  snatched  up  an  antique 
fan,  and  flew  back  to  her  seat  on  the  piazza,  where 
she  was  welcomed  by  a  chorus  of  voices.     A  few 


298    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

minutes  later  she  saw  Hanford  Clark  drive  away, 
but  he  did  not  look  up. 

Sketching  was  not  mere  pastime  with  Mr.  Anton 
Helvetius  Held.  He  had  travelled  much,  and 
studied  hard,  was  an  indefatigable  worker,  and 
mightily  ambitious.  It  was  his  dream  to  make  his 
mark  in  the  world  both  at  home  and  abroad.  The 
interest  of  the  moment  was  of  small  consequence 
to  him,  and  the  remarks  of  extravagant  praise 
bestowed  on  him  now,  as  he  worked,  touched  him 
not  at  all,  except  as  they  revealed  to  him  some 
defect  or  weakness,  when  he  grasped  at  the  hint 
(given  him  mostly  in  ignorance),  eagerly  profiting 
thereby.  For  this  reason  he  gladly  displayed  his 
sketches,  gaining  thus  a  reputation  for  extreme 
affability,  and  would  sit  smilingly  by,  listening  to 
the  comments  of  even  the  least  artistic,  if  perchance 
some  hint  might  be  dropped  which  he  could  seize 
and  work  out  later.  Alert,  humorous,  and  quietly 
receptive,  he  yet  lacked  the  one  element  to  secure 
success, — the  power  to  perceive  through  spiritual 
insight.  Too  self-centred  to  allow  his  soul  to 
reach  toward  and  come  in  touch  with  other  souls, 
he  lost  the  divine  impetus  which  might  have  made 
him  great. 

He  would  have  left  Patterson  a  month  ago,  but 
that  the  place  was  suddenly  imbued  with  new 
interest  for  him  by  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Marshall  and 
her  ward.  He  would  paint  the  beautiful  brunette, 
and  in  three  days'  time  had  so  far  ingratiated  him- 
self with  Aunt  Isabel  that  he  might  have  had  the 
privilege  of  painting  her  portrait  also.  Marguerite's 
piquancy    peculiarly   attracted    him,    and    ere    two 


Confidences  299 

weeks  had  passed,  seeing  her  daily,  chatting,  riding, 
driving,  or  walking  with  her,  never  alone  with  her, 
yet  always  in  her  company,  and  flirting  with  her  in 
the  evening  and  all  the  time,  he  had  come  to  believe 
himself  seriously  in  love.  To-day,  as  he  worked 
on,  touching  the  delicate  lines  of  chin  and  throat 
and  cheek,  he  felt  for  the  first  time  in  his  thirty 
years  of  existence  the  subtile,  baffling  power  of  the 

spirit. 

"  Something  eludes  me  here,"  he  ejaculated,  "yet 
these  lines  are  certainly  correct." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Held,  they  are  perfect,"  exclaimed 
Miss  Keller,  who  had  begun  to  pay  decided  court 
to  that  gentleman. 

Marguerite  laughed.  "  Don't  you  wish  I  were  a 
mountain,  or  a  heap  of  green  stones  with  the  moss 
on  them?  Mr.  Held  paints  stones  to  perfection. 
You  see,  they  never  think  nor  care  for  anything,  so 
he  does  not  have  to  paint  what  he  cannot  see." 

"  Miss  Van  Ostade,"  he  said,  seeing  her  in  the 
doorway,  ''  you  have  not  seen  this  for  some  time, 
and  can  tell  the  better  for  that.  Are  we  losing 
likeness  here?  " 

Portia  felt  hurried,  but  came  smilingly  across  to 
the  interested  group.  *'  I  am  no  artist,  Mr.  Held." 
She  stopped  and  hesitated  before  the  drawing.  *'  It 
seems  —  " 

*'  Don't  speak  until  you  have  taken  time  to  look 
at  it,  pray.     Now,  why  is  it  unlike?" 

**  I  would  not  call  it  unlike.  It  seems  very 
correct." 

"  That  is  what  I  tell  him,  very  correct,"  echoed 
Miss  Keller. 


300   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Portia  brought  her  head  down  to  a  level  with 
the  artist's,  to  see  his  model  from  his  point  of 
view.     "  Yes,  it  is  certainly  like,  but  —  " 

**  Ah,  there  it  is,  but  something  eludes  me." 

**  What  is  it,  do  you  think,  that  eludes  you?" 
she  asked,  looking  gravely  in  Mr.  Held's  face. 
With  the  sure  instinct  of  her  own  seeing  soul,  she 
knew  why  he  failed,  yet  felt  powerless  to  help  him, 
unless  she  could  awaken  in  him  the  insight  by 
which  spirit  recognizes  spirit.  *'  I  presume  the 
mere  intellectual  perception  of  outward  things  goes 
but  a  little  way  in  art,"  she  went  on  gently;  "  that 
may  be  a  good  reason  why  we  who  are  not  artists 
should  not  pass   judgment." 

"  I  think  it  is  perfectly  wonderful,  and  a  likeness 
too.     Now  is  n't  it,  Mr.  Betts?  "  said  Miss  Keller. 

"  Certainly  the  likeness  is  good,  and  the  technique 
is  more  than  good.     I  like  your  handling,  Mr.  Held." 

The  artist  remained  silent,  his  arms  dropped  at 
his  side,  alternately  eying  first  his  model  and  then 
the  picture. 

''What  is  it  eludes  you?"  asked  Portia  again. 

"  I  don't  know.     You  tell  me.     You  can  do  it." 

"  He  is  trying  to  grasp  at  airy  nothing,  and  finds 
it  hard  to  catch,"  said  Marguerite.  "  I  will  wager 
you  he  has  put  in  the  picture  everything  he  sees 
in  my  face,  and  is  only  provoked  that  there  is 
nothing  more." 

"  Miss  McLourie,  a  thousand  things  are  omitted," 
he  exclaimed,  snatching  up  his  brushes  and  going 
eagerly  to  work. 

"Now,  Mr.  Held,  you  will  surely  spoil  it,"  said 
Portia.     "Don't  try  to  paint  until  you  are  sure  of 


Confidences  301 

what  you  wish  to  do.  Besides,  Miss  McLourie  is 
weary;   I  see  it  in  her  eyes." 

"  I  beg  pardon  if  you  are  tired.  I  did  not  notice 
it." 

**No?  Maybe  that  was  what  eluded  you,"  said 
Marguerite,  teasingly;  "but  now  if  you  have  seen 
it  in  my  eyes,  as  Miss  Van  Ostade  has,  I  will  sit  a 
little  longer  while  you  put  it  in." 

*'Ah,  but  I  do  not  want  a  look  of  weariness. 
Anything  but  that,"  he  said,  painting  on  slowly. 

''  I  don't  wonder  it  is  impossible,"  said  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall, shaking  out  her  laces,  and  viewing  the  work 
through  her  hand  to  shut  off  surrounding  objects. 
**  I  particularly  wished  this  to  be  a  likeness,  not 
a  fancy  picture.  Marguerite,  can't  you  keep  the 
same  expression  for  two  minutes ;  can't  you  be 
more  reposeful?  But  it  is  not  so  bad.  Haven't 
you  flattered  her  a  little,  made  her  too  classic  in 
the  drawing?  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Held !  How  cruel,  to  make  a  guy  of 
me !  I  hate  classic  features."  She  pouted,  and 
glanced  at  him  askance.  Portia,  seeing  she  was 
really  tired  and  annoyed  at  being  publicly  ana- 
lyzed, made  a  little  gesture,  which  Marguerite 
gladly  accepted.  She  sprang  up,  all  her  languor 
gone  in  a  moment.  '*  I  am  going  with  Miss  Van 
Ostade,  to  help  her.  Miss  Katherine  and  Mrs. 
Barry  are  helping,  why  cannot  I?" 

"  Marguerite  !  "  exclaimed  her  aunt. 

"  I  know,  aunt,  but  Mr.  Held  can't  do  anything 
more  until  he  finds  out  what  eludes  him.  You 
finish  the  sitting  and  tell  him  what  it  is."  And 
they  went  away  together. 


302    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  You  naughty  one,  but  how  I  love  you  !  I  don't 
wonder  your  aunt  wishes  the  picture  to  be  Hke  you ; 
I  do,  too,"  said  Portia,  laughing. 

"  He  never  will  make  it  like  me.  If  he  had  any 
sense,  he  would  paint  you.  There  is  five  times 
more  in  your  face  than  in  mine,  just  as  there  is 
in  what  you  say  and  in  your  voice,  only  he  is  too 
stupid  to  see  it,  and  you  are  really  more  beau  —  " 

**  Hush,  hush !  "  Portia  put  her  arm  around  the 
little  body  and  drew  her  close.  ''  You  are  tired 
and  annoyed.  Come  and  hide  from  them  all  in 
our  own  little  sitting-room,  mamma's  and  grand- 
father's and  mine."  She  led  the  way  out  of  the 
hall  to  the  rear  piazza,  and  thence,  up  an  outside 
stairway,  to  a  small  room  in  the  far  end  of  the 
ell  addition,  having  an  outlook  on  three  sides. 
Here  white  curtains  floated  out  into  the  room  with 
the  breeze  that  swept  through  it,  and  everything 
seemed  white  and  cool. 

**  Oh,  what  a  sweet  room  !  I  did  n't  know  there 
was  such  a  pretty  spot  in  the  whole  house." 

"No?  It  is  a  dingy  old  house,  so  I  fitted  this 
up  with  pretty  things  for  mamma.  Poor  mamma ! 
she  always  used  to  have  pretty  things  around  her. 
I  never  took  any  one  up  here  before,  for  it  is  my 
place  of  escape  when  I  need  to  be  alone  with  her. 
I  could  not  be  patient  and  strong  but  for  this  little 
resting-place." 

''  Then  you  are  awfully  good  to  let  me  in.  Why 
do  you  do  it?  I  shall  be  sure  to  want  to  come 
again." 

"  That  is  why.  Do  you  know  you  are  very  beau- 
tiful, and  I  love  you?     You  have  had  that  said  to 


Confidences  303 

you  hundreds  of  times,  and  it  has  not  spoiled  you, 
so  I  may  say  it  again,  and  do  no  harm." 

"  It  would  have  spoiled  me  but  for  one  thing," 
she  sighed,  and  turning  away  leaned  on  the  wide 
window-ledge,  and  looked  out  over  the  forest  at 
the  blue  mountain-top  rising  dimly  in  the  distance. 

"What  is  the  one  thing?"  said  Portia,  going  to 
her  side.  **  I  see  many  reasons  why  you  are  not 
spoiled." 

''Can  you?  It  is  good  of  you  to  care  to  find 
them.  No  one  else  does.  If  you  will  call  me  Mar- 
guerite, as  John  does,  I  will  tell  you  something." 

**  Marguerite,  you  beautiful  girl,  look  at  me." 
Portia  bent  her  head  and  looked  into  the  great 
velvety  eyes,  and  they  were  full  of  tears.  "  Why, 
you  darling !  "  she  said,  taking  her  in  her  arms, 
and  putting  her  cheek  against  hers  with  a  caress- 
ing touch,  "  why,  you  darling,  sit  beside  me  here 
and  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  It  is  nothing.  Sometimes  I  am  lonely,  that 
is  all.  You  think  I  have  everything.  I  am  rich 
and  beautiful,  that  is.  to  look  at,  but  you  don't  see 
how  that  shuts  me  out  from  every  one.  If  my 
mother  had  lived,  I  am  sure  she  would  have  loved 
me  for  something  else,  for  myself." 

"  You  beautiful  little  woman,  we  all  love  you  for 
something  else.  You  are  lovely  and  lovable,  with- 
out and  within." 

"  No,  I  am  not.  If  I  were  ugly  to  look  at,  you 
would  not  say  these  things  to  me.  If  I  were  even 
commonplace-looking  like  Miss  —  well,  never  mind, 
do  you  think  they  would  be  painting  my  picture, 
or  teasing  me  to  drive  with  them  or  to  dance  with 


304    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

them  to-morrow  evening?  No,  it  is  as  Aunt  Isabel 
says ;  there  is  only  John  who  cares  for  me  without 
caring  whether  I  am  rich  or  pretty,  and  she  is 
determined  to  have  me  marry  him.  Don't  tremble 
so.     I  am  not  going  to  do  it.» 

"  Miss  McLourie  !  " 

She  lifted  her  head  from  Portia's  breast  and 
looked  in  her  eyes,  laughing  through  her  own  tears. 
"  Call  me  Marguerite  again,  or  I  won't  go  on,"  she 
touched  Portia's  cheeks  with  her  finger.  "  The  red 
is  all  gone  from  here.  I  did  n't  mean  to  make  you 
turn  pale." 

"Marguerite,  don't!"  The  blood  rushed  back 
into  Portia's  face  in  a  painful  blush. 

**  Don't  care.  You  need  n't.  It  was  n't  your  fault. 
I  saw  it  in  his  eyes  the  first  thing,  and  he  should  n't 
have  been  so  stupid  as  to  try  to  hide  it  from  me, 
either."  She  nestled  her  head  down  again,  and  be- 
gan playing  with  the  ribbons  at  Portia's  belt. 

"  You  don't  know  Aunt  Isabel  yet,  but  when  she 
makes  up  her  mind,  she  would  overturn  that  moun- 
tain yonder  before  she  would  give  up.  Of  course 
I  like  John,  but  if  I  should  marry  him  —  why^ — I 
would  hate  him  before  the  honeymoon  was  over, 
and  he  would  me."  She  paused  and  drew  the  long 
lilac  ribbons  through  her  fingers,  while  Portia  waited 
with  beating  heart  for  her  to  go  on. 

"  Marguerite,"  she  said  at  last,  "  tell  me  all  that 
is  in  your  heart.  Has  it  been  making  you  sad, — 
that,  that  you  saw  in  his  eyes?  Tell  me  truly." 
The  arm  that  clasped  Marguerite's  waist  trembled 
in  spite  of  herself.  She  feared  she  knew  not 
what. 


Confidences  305 

"  Made  me  sad?  It  is  the  very  thing  I  have  been 
hoping  for.  He  might  have  had  the  sense  to  fall 
in  love  with  some  one  long  ago,  and  that  would 
have  left  me  free.  Aunt  Isabel  could  n't  have  helped 
herself  then."  She  took  Portia's  hand,  and  drew 
the  trembling  arm  closer  about  her  waist.  "  Love 
me,"  she  said. 

"  I  do.  Marguerite;  you  creep  into  my  heart  as  if 
you  belonged  there." 

**You  were  in  a  hurry  a  minute  ago,  and  I  know 
I  am  keeping  you." 

'*  I  was,  but  it  has  passed  over." 

"  I  annoyed  you  by  what  I  said,  but  was  n't  it  best 
to  be  frank?" 

"  Yes,  darling." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  be  frank  too?  " 

"About  what  shall  I  be  frank?  You  have  said 
you  know,  so  what  can  I  say?" 

"  Say  whether  you  love  him." 

**  I  can't,  Marguerite ;  that  is  more  than  I  have  said 
even  to  my  mother." 

*'  Never  mind.  I  can  feel  whether  you  do  or  not 
in  the  very  tips  of  your  fingers." 

'*  You  have  n't  told  me  yet  what  troubled  you, 
dear."  Portia  kissed  the  warm,  flushed  cheek. 
"Why  were  you  crying  just  now?" 

Marguerite  sighed.  '*  Do  you  know  I  am  utterly 
alone  in  the  world?  Even  Aunt  Isabel  isn't  my 
aunt;  she  was  my  mother's  cousin.  She  loves  me, 
I  know,  and  I  love  her,  but  it  is  not  like  having 
an  own  mother  like  yours,  and  she  and  John  are  all 
I  have  on  earth.  I  had  a  dear  little  blue-eyed  aunty 
in  Scotland  once ;  I  never  saw  her,  but  I  have  her 
20 


3o6    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

picture.  She  wore  lace  caps,  and  was  very  religious, 
Aunt  Isabel  says.  She  died  and  left  me  all  her 
money,  and  a  cat,  but  not  a  soul  to  love  me,  and 
even  the  cat  is  dead.  I  cried  when  it  died.  But 
that  is  n't  the  worst,  I  had  gotten  used  to  being  all 
alone  in  the  world,  and  did  n't  feel  it  so  much  in  the 
convent,  with  those  sweet  sisters ;  but  when  I  came 
out  Aunt  Isabel  took  me,  and  she  has  been  awfully 
good  to  me,  and  there  it  is." 

"  But  I  can't  see  why  her  being  good  to  you  and 
loving  you  should  be  a  trouble,  nor  why  you  could  n't 
have  loved  your  cousin,  nor  why  he  should  n't  have 
loved  you.     How  could  he  help  it,  indeed?" 

*'  Oh,  he  could  help  it  fast  enough.  How  would 
you  like  it,  to  be  always  thrown  at  a  man's  head, 
and  have  him  dodging  for  fear  you  might  hit 
him?  She  took  me  and  followed  him  all  around 
Europe,  and  then  in  New  York,  and  here  she  is  still 
following  him.  She  loves  money  as  she  loves  her 
own  soul.  Here  is  the  way  aunt  loves :  first  her 
own  self,  then  money  (or  vice  versa),  then  me,  and 
then  John ;  so,  if  she  could  marry  me  to  John,  and 
my  money  to  his,  and  then  keep  us  always  with  her, 
she  would  have  all  she  loves  under  her  control." 

"  Oh,  she  can't  be  —  " 

"I  suppose  I  am  talking  very  badly — only  — 
John,  of  course,  is  as  good  as  gold,  but  I  won't  marry 
him,  come  what  will.  He  is  n't  the  only  man  in  the 
world,  —  you  may  think  he  is,  but  he  is  n't."  She 
lifted  her  head  and  shot  a  quick,  mischievous  glance 
into  Portia's  eyes.  "  He  has  plenty  of  money,  so 
have  I.  Why  can't  we  each  marry  some  one  who 
hasn't  any,  and  so  even  things  up  a  little?" 


Confidences  307 

'*  Marguerite,  do  you  love  some  one  else?"  said 
Portia,  earnestly. 

''  I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  not." 

"Is  it  the  artist?"  Portia  spoke  with  anxiety  in 
her  voice.  "  For  if  it  is,  he  is  not  worthy  of  you, 
dear." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  is.  Most  any  one  is.  John  thinks  I 
am  a  wicked  flirt.  Aunt  Isabel  says  some  one  will 
be  sure  to  marry  me  for  my  looks  or  my  money, 
unless  I  take  John,  and  that  I  am  trifling  away  the 
best  years  of  my  life,  and  will  be  sure  to  marry  a 
crooked  stick  at  last,  and  no  one  can  call  Mr.  Held 
crooked.  Anyway,  he  may  not  care  a  straw  for 
me,  and  if  he  does,  he  needs  a  good  lesson.  Now, 
in  earnest,  I  will  tell  you  just  how  I  feel.  I  feel  all 
the  time  as  if  I  were  dragging  a  ball  and  chain  after 
me,  like  those  poor  men  in  striped  clothes  who 
passed  here  to-day.  Aunt  Isabel  loves  me,  but  she 
holds  me,  I  can't  tell  you  how.  I  love  her,  but  I 
feel  half  afraid  of  her,  — afraid  she  will  make  me  do 
something  sometime,  whether  I  want  to  do  it  or  not. 
If  I  should  stop  flirting  and  really  love  some  one, 
and  she  should  oppose  me,  I  would  have  no  soul 
in  the  world  to  whom  I  could  turn.  What  would  a 
girl  like  me  do  without  one  woman  friend?  "  Portia 
tried  to  speak,  but  the  impetuous  words  flowed  on. 
"  I  say,  if  John  only  would  love  you  and  marry  you, 
I  would  be  free  at  last,  and  then  I  would  have  you. 
Oh,  I  would  have  you  !  You  are  beautiful,  and 
you  are  good."  She  looked  up  in  Portia's  face, 
then  threw  her  arms  about  her  neck,  and  Portia  felt 
the  warm  tears  flowing.  An  impulse  of  tenderness 
swept  over  her  like  a  flood. 


308    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  You  have  me  now,  darling,  now  and  forever,  no 
matter  what  your  cousin  does.  You  can  be  free, 
for  all  that,  and  have  a  woman  friend  who  will  love 
you  for  the  beautiful  soul  that  is  in  you.  I  know 
how  it  is.  You  laugh  and  tease  and  do  all  you  can 
to  make  people  think  you  are  heartless,  because  you 
are  too  proud  to  lift  the  veil,  and  let  them  see  into 
your  heart.  You  want  to  be  loved  for  what  you  are, 
and  not  for  the  outside  show  of  things ;  but,  Mar- 
guerite, you  have  not  been  told  the  truth.  Would 
all  your  beauty  have  stolen  into  my  heart  in  this 
way,  without  a  beautiful  soul  to  fill  it?  It  isn't 
beauty  without  that.  You  are  loved  for  what  you 
are,  not  for  either  your  money  or  your  face." 

"  He  does  n't,  and  he  makes  love  to  me  every  time 
he  gets  the  chance.     He  thinks  he  is  in  love." 

"  Who  does  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Held,  and  all  he  thinks  of  me  is  that  I  am  a 
good  subject  for  art.  An  old  ruin  would  please  him 
as  well,  but  he  makes  love  to  me  because  he  thinks 
I  am  pretty.  He  does  n't  see  anything  else.  Half 
the  men  do  not.  That 's  why  he  can't  paint  me," 
she  spoke  in  short,  sobbing  sentences. 

"  Then  why  do  you  let  him?  " 

*'  Just  for  fun.  It  pleases  him,  and  keeps  aunt's 
mind  diverted  from  John,  and  that  gives  him  a 
chance,  and  then  it  scares  John,  and  that  is  worth 
doing, — he  thinks  he  must  watch  over  me  like  a 
brother,  you  know,  —  and  then  it  will  be  good  for 
the  artist.  He  never  will  paint  until  he  learns  to 
look  more  than  skin  deep,  so  it  is  a  good  thing  all 
around,  —  and  then  it  makes  Miss  Keller  just  wild." 

**  But  will  no  one  be  pained  by  it?  " 


Confidences  309 

Marguerite's  conscience  pricked  her  a  little,  but 
she  only  said,  ''Oh,  Mr.  Held  may  think  he  is  for  a 
little  while,  but  he  will  soon  get  over  it.  A  man 
who  cares  only  for  a  pretty  face  can  soon  solace 
himself.     There  are  more  in  the  world." 

**  You  puzzle  me,  Marguerite.  Is  n't  there  any 
one  who  is  loving  you,  who  might  be  hurt  by  it?  " 

'*  I  puzzle  myself.  Let 's  not  talk  about  me  any 
more.  I  am  not  a  good  subject.  I  love  you  and  I 
mean  to  help  John,  and  I  will  be  free,  and  I  guess 
P       that  is  all  there  is  to  say." 

''  Then  dry  your  eyes,  and  lie  down  here  where 
it  is  cool  and  quiet  for  a  while.  Here  is  your  fan, 
and  remember,  darling,  I  am  going  to  call  you  my 
own  little  sister,  always.  I  have  none,  only  you. 
Kiss  me  again,  dear.  Grandfather  has  gone  to  take 
Juliet  and  the  other  children  to  drive,  and  mamma 
is  in  the  kitchen  looking  after  some  little  things  for 
me,  so  you  will  be  alone  for  an  hour  yet." 

"  And  Clare  will  never  think  of  looking  for  me 
here,  will  she  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Portia,  with  a  smile,  "  and  re- 
member, dear,  I  want  my  little  sister  to  come  and 
share  my  retreat  with  me  whenever  she  likes." 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

RESCUE   AND    SURRENDER 

MARGUERITE'S  restless  spirit  prompted  her 
soon  to  be  up  and  moving.  She  strung 
Portia's  guitar,  put  it  in  tune,  and  strummed  on  it 
a  Httle,  then  she  tripped  along  the  upper  outside 
gallery  to  her  own  room,  and  quickly  returned  with 
a  long  brocaded  ribbon  of  exquisite  changeable 
tints,  with  which  she  decorated  the  instrument ;  then 
she  leaned  on  the  window-ledge  with  her  chin  in  her 
hand,  and  looked  out  over  the  forest-covered  hillside, 
where  two  great  ledges  of  rock,  jutting  high  in  fan- 
tastic shapes,  seemed  making  elaborate  courtesies 
to  each  other. 

"  They  look  like  an  old  man  and  an  old  woman 
hobnobbing  together,"  she  thought.  She  felt  the 
breeze  at  the  open  window  cooler  now,  and  the 
desire  seized  her  to  climb  the  hillside  and  visit 
the  old  couple.  Everything  was  very  quiet  in  the 
house,  her  aunt  taking  her  siesta,  and  Clare  nowhere 
to  be  seen,  and  the  other  inmates  gone  about  their 
own  affairs.  She  stole  out,  taking  only  her  parasol, 
down  the  outside  stairway,  around  the  rear  of  the 
house,  through  the  garden,  and  off  into  the  forest. 
The  path  led  irregularly  up  the  hill,  but  the  old  man 
and  woman  she  had  seen  from  Portia's  window  were 
farther  away  than  she  thought.  The  forest,  dense 
with  wild  undergrowth,  hid  the  rock  ledges,  and 
soon  she  lost  sight  of  the  house  also,  but  the  path 

310 


Rescue  and  Surrender 


311 


did  not  lead  her  to  them,  although  it  wound  upward. 
It  led  her  away  toward  the  edge  of  the  hill,  where 
a  deep  cut  had  been  made  for  the  Gap  road.  She 
felt  a  thrill  of  romantic  delight  in  being  all  alone  in 
this  wilderness,  almost  hoped  that  some  strange  ad- 
venture might  befall,  with  a  little  quiver  of  fear  lest 
it  really  should  occur.  In  reality  she  was  as  safe 
here  as  a  kitten  in  its  nest,  for  any  danger  that 
might  come  to  her  from  the  mountain  people.  A 
lady  would  never  be  treated  by  them  with  anything 
other  than  their  gentle,  soft-voiced  courtesy.  Where 
the  path  joined  the  cut,  high  above  it,  the  view 
opened  out,  a  vista  of  billowy  blue  hills  and  mellow 
distances,  and  down  below  it  was  a  rough  slope  of 
flat  rock  and  a  small  stream  of  water.  Here  was  a 
canvas-covered  wagon,  apparently  filled  with  corn 
fodder.  The  little  ox-team  lay  beside  it,  resting  and 
sleepily  chewing  their  cuds,  while  their  driver  sat 
among  the  fodder  eating  a  coarse  lunch  of  corn 
bread  and  raw  salt  pork.  The  edge  of  the  cut,  sharp 
and  jagged,  overhung  the  road  and  the  stream,  and 
the  path  wound  close  to  it,  completely  screened  by 
rank  shrubbery. 

As  Marguerite  tiptoed  along  in  her  white  dress 
and  rose-colored  ribbons,  like  a  butterfly  that  should 
have  been  hovering  in  the  air  instead  of  walking  on 
the  earth,  she  heard  voices  near  her,  and  clinging  to 
a  scrubby  little  oak,  leaned  far  enough  over  to  see 
the  group  below.  A  man  on  a  lean  horse  had  just 
ridden  up.  She  heard  him  say  he  was  thirsty,  and 
saw  the  man  in  the  wagon  fumble  a  moment  in  the 
fodder  and  bring  forth  a  bottle,  which  he  handed 
out,  first  glancing  up  and  down  the  road. 


3 1  2   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

*' Hev  ye  mo'  kaigs  in  thar?"  asked  the  horse- 
man, as  he  slowly  drew  out  the  cob  cork.  His  horse 
improved  the  opportunity,  amply  justified  by  his 
leanness,  to  eat  of  the  fodder  in  the  wagon. 

**  I  reckon,"  was  the  reply. 

'*  Then  I  'low  ye  'd  better  move  on  right  smart. 
They  's  been  a  raid  here  lately.  Be  ye  makin'  fo' 
th'  mill  ?  " 

"  I  reckon,"  was  again  the  reply. 

**  Ye  'd  better  tu'n  out  o'  ye'r  way  a  leetle,  'nd  go 
round  by  Sproat's.  The  mill  business  is  broke  up 
fer  now,  — th'  ol'  man's  been  took;  'nd  his  woman, 
she  keeps  keer  o'  th'  trade.  Ye  '11  hev  tu  stow  thet 
thar  in  th'  cave  ovah  th'  mill  bredge.  Th'  ol' 
woman,  she  axed  me  tu  watch  out  fer  ye,  'nd  I  'lowed 
I  'd  come  up  weth  ye  yere." 

The  man  on  the  load  hurriedly  thrust  his  lunch 
into  a  sack,  and  began  getting  up  his  tired  little 
oxen  with  loud  shouts.  Marguerite  was  on  the 
point  of  turning  homeward  when  she  heard  a 
name  mentioned  that  caused  her  to  pause  and 
listen. 

**  Hit  war  th'  agent  yandah  at  th'  station  'at  put 
'em  on  tu  hit,  I  reckon,"  said  the  horseman.  *'  My 
gal  wuz  rid'n'  by  th'  station,  'nd  she  see  Clark,  thoo 
th'  winder,  talkin'  weth  thet  young  feller  't  hes  th' 
peach  orchid,  up  Pine  Knob  way.  She  reckoned 
'at  he  done  hit,  fer  she  hyearn  him  say  't  he  'lowed 
't  th'  co'n  meal  't  wuz  tu'ned  out  o'  th'  mill  wuz 
ruther  juicy  'nd  strong  tastin',  'nd  I  reckon  't  he 
done  hit  tu.  Anyhow,  we  'r'  layin'  out  tu  watch 
'im,  'nd  I  'low  they'll  be  a  bullet  thoo  'im  'fo' 
mawnin'  or  somethin'  wuss." 


Rescue  and  Surrender  3 1  3 

Marguerite  felt  her  heart  suddenly  stop  beating. 
She  grew  faint  with  fear.  They  were  going  to  put  a 
bullet  into  Hanford  Clark.  It  was  Hanford  !  She 
crept  cautiously  as  near  the  precipice's  edge  as  she 
dared,  and  dropped  on  her  knees  to  listen.  Yes, 
surely  it  was  Hanford.  She  heard  the  man  say 
that  Dick  Button  had  brought  the  officials  down  on 
them  and  raided  the  mill,  and  broken  up  two  stills, 
and  then  sold  out  his  interest  in  the  peach  orchard 
and  gone,  —  knowing  it  would  be  dangerous  for  him 
to  stay,  —  and  that  they  were  going  to  be  revenged 
on  the  agent. 

**  Hit  war  th'  agent  sot  Button  on,  'nd  he  '11  be 
met  up  weth  'fo'  sun-up  to-morrow  fo'  hit.  We 
'lowed  fust  't  we  'd  drap  'im  ovah  th'  trestle  like  we 
done  th'  lawyer  las'  spring ;  but  Patterson,  he  'lowed 
they  wuz  tu  many  stranger  folks  'round  thoo  th* 
maount'ns  fo'  hit.  He  reckoned  thar'd  be  mo* 
s'arch  fo'  th'  agent  likely,  'nd  they  mount  git  track 
o'  th'  lawyer  that-a-way,  'nd  so  git  th'  law  on  us,  'nd 
some  o'  we-uns  mount  be  called  tu  swing  fo'  hit  tu. 
These  gov'nment  ones  is  mighty  dead  sot  oncet 
they  gits  on." 

"Gee  whoah  thar,  Bill,  what  ye  duin'  thar?" 
shouted  the  driver,  getting  his  ox-team  laboriously 
under  way.  He  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  stream 
while  the  beasts  dipped  their  noses  in  the  refreshing 
water,  and  sniffed  over  its  rippling  surface  and 
called  to  the  rider  who  was  turning  away. 

*'  Look  a-here,  whar  yu  likely  tu  come  up  weth 
'im?     Yandah  tu  th'  station? " 

"They's  no  chance  th'ar.  Naw,  he's  off  to-day. 
I  be'n  layin'  fo'  him  evah   sence  th'  raid,  but   he 


3 1 4    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

sticks  thai'  mighty  clost."  Tlien  he  went  on  to  ex- 
plain that  he  saw  Clark  was  not  at  his  post,  and  that 
he  went  to  the  boarding-house  ostensibly  to  ask  Mr. 
Ridgeway  for  the  job  of  furnishing  him  post  lumber, 
but  in  reality  to  find  out  Clark's  movements;  that 
he  had  seen  him  drive  off  and  had  learned  from 
Andy  that  he  was  expected  back  about  the  time  the 
chickens  go  to  roost ;  that  he  had  taken  a  turn 
about,  which  had  brought  him  face  to  face  with  the 
agent,  and  that  Clark  had  asked  him  where  he 
might  find  the  English  gardener  at  the  Gap,  and 
that  then  he  had  posted  three  stout  mountaineers  at 
the  turn  just  above  the  railway  tunnel,  and  that  he 
was  now  on  his  way  to  join  them. 

**  Th'  las'  train  comes  thoo  aftah  dark,  an'  we  'low 
tu  make  th'  capture,  'nd  bind  'im,  'nd  lay  'im  on  th' 
track  inside  th'  tunn'l,  an'  then  turn  his  hoss  loose, 
'nd  lash  'im,  'nd  let  'im  jest  natch'ly  make  fo'  home 
like  he  'd  come  up  weth  a  skeer.  Hit 's  a  natch'l 
death  like  fo'  th'  agent  tu  be  met  up  weth  by  his 
own  train." 

'*  Why  n't  ye  jest  shoot  'im  'nd  be  done  weth 
hit?"  said  the  driver,  bitterly.  "  Th'  law  hes  no 
rights  tu  be  interferin'  weth  we-uns  'nd  ouh  livin', 
'nd  we-all  hes  a  right  tu  come  up  weth  th'  law." 

*'Thet's  so,  but  they  is  quite  a  few  tu  many  fo' 
us  hyarabouts,  these  days.  Ef  we  kyant  kiver  ouh 
tracks,  some  o'  we-uns  mount  be  called  on  tu  swing, 
oh  w'ar  a  striped  suit  'nd  haul  a  chain." 

He  said  this  last  in  a  lower  tone,  but  every  word 
fell  heavily  on  Marguerite's  heart.  She  remained 
motionless  on  her  knees,  almost  paralyzed  with 
horror  and  fear.     She  heard  the  driver  shouting  to 


Rescue  and  Surrender  315 

his  clumsy  beasts  as  they  cHmbed  a  steep,  narrow 
road,  that  led  up  into  the  mountain,  and  then  down 
into  a  deep  gorge  behind  the  old  mill.  "  Haw,  Bill ! 
Whoah  thar !  haw,  Buck !  Whoah  thar !  Gee ! 
Gee  up,  Bill."  His  voice  came  back  to  her  as  if  in 
a  dream.  Her  head  swam,  and  fiery  motes  danced 
before  her  eyes.  Suddenly  she  sprang  up.  She 
must  do  something  quickly  !  Should  she  run  back, 
and  send  a  messenger  in  haste?  She  looked  at  her 
pretty  little  watch.  Oh,  it  was  too  late.  By  the 
time  she  reached  the  house  he  would  be  there,  and 
she  was  halfway  there  already.  She  must  go  to 
him  herself.  She  must  run  and  stop  him  before 
he  passed  the  turn  above  the  tunnel.  Without  a 
moment's  further  thought  she  started  down  the 
steep  bank.  Her  knees,  weak  with  excitement, 
gave  way  under  her,  but  she  saved  herself  by  catch- 
ing at  the  bushes  from  going  headlong.  She 
stamped  her  foot.  **  See  here ! "  she  said,  com- 
manding herself;  *'  I  must  be  brave,  I  must  be 
strong,  or  I  can't  reach  him."  Then  gathering  her 
pretty  muslin  skirts  out  of  the  wet,  she  sprang  from 
one  large  stepping-stone  to  another  across  the 
stream,  and  hurried  on  in  the  direction  taken  by 
the  horseman. 

"I  must  go  this  way,"  she  said.  ''This  is  the 
w^ay  he  went.  What  if  they  should  shoot  me  !  But 
they  would  n't  do  that.  They  won't  care  for  me, 
and  I  could  go  right  by  and  they  might  never  sus- 
pect me.  If  I  could  only  get  there  first !  "  Sud- 
denly the  horrible  thought  came  to  her,  what  if  this 
should  not  be  the  Gap  road,  what  if  the  man  had 
gone  a  roundabout  way,  and  she  should  not  reach 


3 1 6    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

the  tunnel  at  all !  She  stood  still  and  wrung  her 
hands.  *' Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  what  shall  I  do? 
If  I  were  a  man,  I  would  have  shot  them  both 
dead,"  she  said. 

She  heard  the  sound  of  horses*  feet  coming  at  a 
walk,  and  presently  a  woman,  young  and  pleasant- 
faced,  with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  and  a  sack  of  meal 
behind  her,  rode  around  a  curve  in  the  road. 

"Can  you  tell  me,  is  this  the  Gap  road?"  said 
Marguerite,  quickly. 

The  woman  reined  in  her  horse,  and  sat  staring  a 
moment  as  if  she  did  not  comprehend. 

"  Howdy  !  "  she  said. 

"  Howdy  ! "  replied  Marguerite.  "  Is  this  the 
way  to  the  Gap?  " 

'' Yu  ain't  'lowin'  tu  walk  cl'ar  tu  thar,  be  yu?" 
was  the  gentle  reply. 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !     But  is  this  the  right  way?" 

"  Why,  yas  'm,  this  'n'  's  th'  road." 

"Thank  you.     And  how  far  is  it  to  the  tunnel?  " 

"  I  don'  rightly  know.  Hit  mount  be  a  mild  or 
tharabouts.  Hit 's  nigh  on  tu  a  mild,  I  reckon," 
said  the  woman,  languidly  yet  wonderingly. 

"Thank  you."  Marguerite  tried  to  appear  to  be 
sauntering,  and  swung  her  parasol  carelessly,  as  the 
woman  turned  to  gaze  back  at  her,  but  when  she 
was  fairly  around  the  curve  out  of  sight,  she  began 
to  run.  On  she  hurried,  now  walking,  now  running, 
never  stopping.  Her  heart  beat  high,  her  cheeks 
grew  flushed,  and  the  sun  sank  lower  and  lower. 
"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  run  as  fast  as  I  could  think !  " 
she  said.  She  wondered  what  Aunt  Isabel  might  be 
tliinking.     She  grew  weak  and  tired,  but  still  hurried 


Rescue  and  Surrender  3  1 7 

on.  Would  the  turn  never  be  reached?  Suddenly 
she  came  to  a  full  stop.  She  had  reached  a  ford, 
wide  and  deep,  and  her  heart  sank.  She  could  see 
no  foot-bridge,  not  even  a  log  on  which  to  cross  it. 
There  was  one  higher  up,  where  the  stream  was 
narrower,  but  she  did  not  know  of  it.  She  thought 
she  heard  a  whistle,  and  held  her  breath  to  listen,  — • 
some  one  might  be  coming  who  could  take  her 
across,  —  but  no  one  came,  and  all  was  still. 

Oh,  it  was  so  lonely  !  and  the  sun  was  sinking, 
sinking.  The  forest  was  all  around  her.  A  bird 
high  over  her  head  uttered  a  strange  note  that 
startled  her.  The  tears  filled  her  eyes,  that  ached 
with  the  pressure  of  them  unshed,  but  she  crowded 
them  back.  Suddenly  a  thought  struck  her.  *'  Why 
haven't  I  prayed?"  she  said.  "  Portia  Van  Ostade 
would  have  prayed,  and  then  this  would  n't  have 
happened.  Some  one  would  have  been  here  to  help 
her  over."  She  dropped  on  her  knees,  and  her 
heart  cried  out  within  her.  "  Oh,  please  God,  help 
me.  Don't  let  them  do  it.  Let  me  get  across. 
Let  me  reach  him  first  and  send  him  back.  O 
God,  I  love  him,  I  love  him.  Let  me  go  on,  for 
Christ's  sake,  amen,  amen." 

Then  she  rose  and  walked  to  the  edge  of  the 
water.  How  clear  it  was  !  She  could  see  where 
the  wagon  tracks  ran  into  it,  on  the  gravelly  bed, 
and  the  great  boulders  at  one  side.  Some  of  them 
almost  reached  the  surface.  They  were  so  near 
together  she  thought  she  could  cross,  stepping 
from  one  to  another.  Again  she  tucked  up  her 
skirts,  and  this  time  walked  bravely  into  the  water; 
but  she  was  wrong,  it  would  have  been  better  had 


3  1 8   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

she  taken  the  way  of  the  wagons,  as  the  river  bed 
was  higher  there,  and  among  the  boulders  were  deep 
holes,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  stream  the  current 
was  swift  and  strong ;  but  how  could  she  know  the 
wisest  way,  poor  little  heart ! 

She  shrank  back  as  the  cold  water  touched  her 
skin,  for  she  was  heated,  and  the  river  was  fed  by 
mountain  streams  that  drew  their  supply  from 
cooler  heights.  "  Oh,  but  I  must,  I  must  get 
across,"  she  said,  and  slowly,  steadily,  stepped  from 
stone  to  stone.  The  water  came  up  higher  and 
higher  —  alas  for  the  pretty  muslins  and  rose-colored 
ribbons  !  —  now  to  her  knees,  now  to  her  waist ; 
then,  slipping  from  her  slimy  footing,  the  water 
closed  overhead,  but  only  for  an  instant.  She 
raised  her  face  above  the  surface,  and  clambering 
upon  another  boulder,  regained  her  footing.  She 
steadied  herself,  leaning  against  the  current,  her 
heart  beat  wildly,  and  she  still  clung  to  her  poor 
bedraggled  parasol,  as  to  a  straw  of  hope.  Again 
she  essayed  to  step  from  stone  to  stone,  carefully, 
carefully;  once  and  again  she  succeeded,  and  again 
went  down.  Oh,  would  she  never  get  across? 
Would  she  drown?  Then  the  thought  of  her 
lover's  peril  gave  her  strength,  and  once  more  she 
struggled  up  on  the  rocks.  She  was  nearly  across, 
but,  oh,  how  the  time  was  passing !  The  sun  was 
quite  gone  behind  the  hill.  Even  now  they  might 
be  killing  him,  and  the  river  was  so  cold  and  swift. 
Again  she  lifted  up  her  heart  in  supplication  and 
terror,  not  for  herself.  **  O  God,  let  me  get  across, 
let  me  go  to  him,  let  me  save  him  !  "  and  carefully 
reached  one  step  farther,  and  gained  it,  but  at  the 


Rescue  and  Surrender  319 

next  again  went  down.  But  here  the  river  bed  was 
steeply  shelving  to  the  opposite  shore,  although 
covered  with  jagged  stones  that  hurt  her.  She 
toiled  up  it,  and  at  last,  with  her  clothes  hanging 
heavily  wet  upon  her,  crawled  on  her  hands  and 
knees  up  the  bank,  where  she  lay  for  a  moment 
exhausted  with  the  struggle  and  the  fright.  Still 
she  dared  not  stop.  She  rose  and  wrung  out  her 
draggled  skirts,  and  plodded  on,  almost  hopeless 
now  of  reaching  the  turn  in  time,  and  not  knowing 
how  much  farther  she  must  go. 

"  It  can't  be  much  farther,  for  the  train  goes 
through  that  tunnel  soon  after  leaving  the  station," 
she  thought. 

Presently  she  heard  the  sound  of  crackling  bushes 
and  the  snort  of  a  horse.  There  at  the  roadside 
stood  Prince,  the  lazy  boarding-house  hack,  crop- 
ping the  tender  ends  of  shrubs,  and  dragging  the 
light  rig  after  him,  very  much  cramped  and  tilted 
on  its  side.  Evidently,  in  their  struggle  with  their 
victim,  the  men  had  forgotten  to  lash  the  horse 
toward  home  as  they  intended.  Marguerite  paused, 
quivering  like  a  deer  set  at  bay  by  the  hounds. 
In  that  one  instant  she  became  a  woman.  The 
nobility  of  her  nature,  which  had  lain  dormant  in 
the  heart  of  the  girl,  rose  within  her.  The  heroine's, 
the  woman's  —  nay,  the  Divine  —  spirit  of  willing  self- 
sacrifice,  if  such  need  be,  glowed,  a  living  fire,  in  her 
great  dark  eyes.  The  reality  of  the  horror  she  had 
feared  was  upon  her,  and  she  must  meet  it  alone. 

''  They  have  taken  him.  Oh,  they  have  done 
it !  "  she  said  with  quivering  lips.  Springing  to 
the  horse's  head,   she  backed  him  about  until  she 


320  When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

had  righted  the  vehicle,  then  gathering  the  reins 
from  under  his  feet,  she  cHmbed  to  the  seat  her 
lover  had  occupied  so  short  a  time  since.  If  only 
he  were  not  dead,  she  might  save  him  yet,  she 
thought.  Cautiously,  slowly,  in  the  lessening  light, 
she  drove  out  of  the  road  and  straight  in  among 
the  azalea  and  laurel  shrubs,  threading  her  way 
among  the  young  oaks  and  slender  pines,  until 
the  ground  became  too  rough  for  her  to  go  any 
farther.  There,  tying  him  securely  behind  a  great 
thick-leaved  rhododendron,  that  formed  a  complete 
screen  from  the  road,  she  went  on  toward  the  cut, 
keeping  well  in  among  the  bushes.  Fearing  that 
her  white  dress  might  betray  her  presence,  she 
covered  herself  with  the  brown  linen  lap-cover  from 
the  wagon.  Hearing  voices,  she  crouched  behind  a 
rock,  around  which  she  could  peer  into  the  road 
through  the  leaves.  The  voices  grew  more  distinct, 
and  soon  came  the  sound  of  running  feet  on  the 
hard  road,  and  the  four  men  went  hurrying  by. 
She  counted  them  as  they  passed,  while  her  heart 
stood  still. 

**  We  best  cl'ar  out  o'  yer,  'nd  show  up  at  th' 
station  'fo'  train  time,"  she  heard  one  of  them  say. 
Wet  and  shivering,  she  strained  to  catch  the  last 
sounds  of  their  running  feet,  then  heedless  of  thorns 
and  brambles,  she  left  her  hiding-place,  flying 
through  the  thicket  and  up  the  slope  toward  the 
cut  of  the  tunnel.  It  was  right  before  her  now. 
She  could  see  the  dark  walls  of  rock  looming  up  in 
the  twilight,  with  the  patch  of  clear  yellow  sunset 
sky  showing  between  them,  and  just  beyond,  the 
tunnel  opening  its  black  mouth,  as  if  to  swallow  her 


Rescue  and  Surrender  321 

up  forever.  Here  she  paused  and  called  his  name 
with  all  her  strength  into  the  cavern,  but  only  the 
hollow  reverberations  of  her  own  voice  came  back 
to  her.  Then  she  entered,  feeling  her  way  cautiously 
in  the  darkness.  The  rock  wall  seemed  icy  cold 
to  her  touch,  and  great  cold  drops,  trickling  through 
the  roof  from  underground  springs,  fell  on  her 
face    and    neck. 

**  Oh,  they  have  killed  him,  they  have  killed  him  !  " 
she  wailed,  and  her  voice  sounded  in  her  ears  like 
a  scream,  of  agony.  She  paused  again  and  listened, 
and  this  time  she  thought  she  heard  a  faint  moan 
far  beyond  her  in  the  gloom,  and  her  eyes  grow- 
ing accustomed  to  the  darkness,  she  hurried  faster. 
Again  the  moan  came  to  her.  Yes,  he  was  alive ; 
he  was  there.  She  could  see  the  dark  form  lying 
across  the  track  in  front  of  her. 

"I  am  coming,  Hanford;  I  am  here,"  she  cried, 
running  and  bending  over  him.  "Speak  to  me." 
She  touched  him,  feeling  for  his  face.  It  was 
covered  with  cold  drops,  and  —  oh,  horrible! — he 
was  gagged  —  he  could  not  speak  to  her  —  and 
bound  with  cruel  ropes,  round  and  round  his  body 
and  arms  and  legs.  The  villains  had  done  their 
work  well.     She  began  feeling  for  his  pockets. 

"I  am  looking  for  a  knife,  Hanford,"  she  said,  and 
found  one.  It  was  only  a  penknife,  but  she  cut 
away  tremblingly  in  her  eagerness.  What  if  the  train 
should  come  now !  But  she  would  die  with  him 
if  it  did.  She  freed  his  hands,  feeling  for  the  cords 
that  were  cutting  into  the  flesh  at  his  wrists,  and 
binding  them  behind  his  back.     Then  she  tried  to 

remove   the  torturing    gag.     He    felt  the  touch    of 
-     21 


322  When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

her  fingers  on  his  face  and  neck,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  was  dreaming  an  angel  had  come  to 
set  him  free. 

"  Oh,  Hanford,  I  can't  cut  it.  I  shall  hurt  you," 
she  cried,  the  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks  and 
dropping  warm  on  his  face.  Then  he  knew  her, 
and  a  thrill  of  joy,  that  in  its  intensity  was  pain, 
roused  him.  He  felt  with  his  freed  hands  for  hers, 
and  taking  the  knife  from  her  rapidly  cut  the  cords 
one  by  one.  The  stupor  and  numbness  that  had 
crept  over  him  were  gone  in  an  instant,  swept  away 
by  that  sudden  thrill  of  joy. 

"  Marguerite,"  he  said,  reaching  for  her  in  the 
darkness,  ''speak  again.  Is  it  you?  Angel  from 
heaven,  is  it  you? " 

"Hanford,  don't  wait;  don't  even  speak.  Come, 
come  out  of  here.  The  train  may  be  coming  even 
now,"  she  cried,  pulling  him  toward  the  opening 
of  the  tunnel.  All  his  strength  returned  to  him 
then  with  the  touch  of  her  hands. 

"  Marguerite,  how  came  you  here?  You  are  trem- 
bling and  wet  and  cold.  Let  me  carry  you,  Mar- 
guerite. There  is  no  hurry.  The  train  is  not  due 
yet.  It  is  still  light  outside."  He  took  her  up  in 
his  arms  and  carried  her,  and  she  clung  to  him 
sobbing,  her  strength  gone ;  and  as  he  walked 
stumblingly  out  of  that  terrible  hole  in  the  earth,  he 
continued  to  talk  to  her,  out  of  the  depths  of  his 
tenderness,  scarcely  knowing  what  words  he  used. 

"  Marguerite,  my  life,  my  soul,  where  did  you 
come  from?  Marguerite,  my  hope,  spirit  of  my 
spirit,  did  you  know  that  I  was  dying  there  ?  How 
did  you  come  to  set  me  free?     You  are  drenched 


Rescue  and  Surrender  323 

through,  love,  you  are  cold  and  shivering,  but  your 
tears  warmed  me,  dear,  they  warmed  me  to  the 
heart.  If  my  love  could  only  wrap  you  about  and 
warm  you  so !  Speak  to  me  again.  Marguerite 
or  I  shall  think  I  am  only  dreaming  this.  Whisper 
it  to  me.     Why  did  you  come?  " 

She  could  not  speak  for  sobbing,  but  he  felt  her 
heart  beating,  and  her  hands  tighten  their  hold, 
and  again  the  intensity  of  his  love  for  her  thrilled 
his  whole  being  with  pain,  and  he  walked  on  in 
silence,  scarcely  feeling  the  earth  beneath  his  feet. 
It  was  warmer  in  the  outer  air.  He  wrapped  his 
coat  about  her,  and  picking  up  the  linen  lap-cover 
from  where  it  had  fallen  as  she  ran,  he  began  still 
further  to  wrap  her  in  it,  but  she  would  not. 

"  Don't  stop  for  this,"  she  said,  looking  about  her 
in  terror.  "I  am  warm  now,  almost;"  but  she 
shivered  still.  "We  will  run,  that  will  warm  me. 
Let  us  get  away  from  here.  Come.  I  will  show 
you  where  I  hid  the  horse." 

**You  hid  him?  You?"  He  stopped  still  in  his 
astonishment;  but  she  slipped  her  hand  in  his  and 
pulled  him  on. 

"  Come,  don't  stand.  Run.  They  may  come 
back  again  and  kill  you.  Did  they  hurt  you,  Han- 
ford?     I  know  they  did." 

"  No,  they  were  too  many  for  me.  They  werr 
upon  me  before  I  could  collect  my  senses.  I  was 
driving  along  slowly,  thinking  —  of — something 
not  very  pleasant.  I  was  moody,  and  did  n't  care 
much  what  they  did  with  me."  They  hurried  on 
a  few  minutes  in  silence,  then  Marguerite  spoke 
again,  — 


324    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"Something  not  very  pleasant?  Then  you  must 
have  been  thinking  of  me.  Would  you  care  now 
what  they  might  do  with  you,  if  they  should  come 
back?" 

**  Now,  Marguerite,  I  would  fight  to  the  death," 
he  said,  between  his  closed  teeth. 

They  found  the  horse  as  she  had  left  him,  and 
Hanford  marvelled  at  her  presence  of  mind  and 
dexterity.  As  they  jogged  home  in  the  darkness, 
he  listened  to  her  story,  pathetic  in  the  very  sim- 
plicity of  her  telling,  and  the  unwittingness  with 
which  she  revealed  her  soul  to  him.  Of  her  terror, 
- —  yet  he  knew  it  was  for  him ;  her  moments  of 
anguish,  as  she  struggled  in  the  swift,  cold  current 

—  for  him;  her  exhaustion  and  almost  despair  — 
for  him ;    her   courage   reviving  and  strengthening 

—  for  him ;  and  at  last  her  tenderness  and  weep- 
ing—  still  for  him;  and  he  felt  no  more  the  sense 
of  danger,  nor  of  cords  being  cruelly  wound  about 
him,  nor  of  the  horror  of  being  left  in  the  darkness 
to  wait  for  a  terrible  and  indescribable  death,  but 
was  filled  with  a  sense  of  exhilaration,  —  as  if  he 
were  a  god  who  had  received  a  sacrifice,  or  a  soul 
who  had  passed  through  the  '*  valley  of  the  shadow 
of  death  "  and  entered  into  paradise.  Very  simply 
was  the  story  told.  Only,  as  they  passed  through 
the  river  at  the  ford,  she  drew  back  and  shivered. 
At  the  same  time  they  heard  a  low  rumbling  in  the 
distance.  It  was  the  train  that  would  have  sent 
him  into  eternity.  He  gathered  her  close  to  him, 
and  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  shrank 
down  like  a  frightened  child,  as  it  rumbled  through 
the  tunnel  with  a  hollow  roar. 


^ 


Rescue  and  Surrender  325 

''  Hanford,  If  I  had  n't  heard  those  men,  now,  in 
this  very  minute  you  would  have  been  being  killed. 
You  would  never  know  —  "     She  stopped  and  was     ^ 
silent.  ^ 

"What  would  I  never  have  known,  Marguerite?     t 
Don't  think  of  the  rest."  ^ 

''  You  would  never  have  known  that  I  cared,  — 
nor   that    I    was  loving   you,"  she  faltered.     **  You 
would   have   gone  out  —  and  —  I  —  I    would    have    g 
died."  ^ 

*'  Marguerite,    listen,"    he    said,    and    then    for    a 
moment  he  could  not  speak.    ''  There  are  no  words,"    ?      V 
he   said   at    last,   '*  none    deep    enough,   nor  strong    A     ^ 
enough,  nor  beautiful  enough,  to  utter  what  I  would.    "'      4 
Say  again  to  me,  *I   love  you;'  you  never  said  it^" 
before,  and  to  hear  you  now,  takes  me  straight  out   ;      ^v 
of  hell,  where  I  was  when  I  felt  your  tears  on  my  v. 
face,  into  heaven."  .^ 

"  Yes,  I  said  them  once  before,  right  here.  I 
said  them  to  God  before  I  went  into  the  water. 
I  was  afraid,  and  I  prayed  them  here  on  the  rives- 
bank.  Oh,  I  was  so  afraid  I  could  n't  get  across,  so 
I  said,  I  love  him,  and  God  understood." 

Hanford  bowed  his  head.  He  thought  of  the  one 
prayer  of  all  prayers,  made  in  the  Garden  of  Geth- 
semane,  and  knew  hers  to  be,  in  its  human  weakness 
and  fear,  a  shadow  of  the  same,  —  a  giving  up,  if 
need  be,  her  life  for  his,  and  once  more  he  was 
dumb.     At  last  he  said, — 

"  You  have  sanctified  my  life,  Marguerite.  You 
have  prayed  the  one  prayer  that  makes  a  human 
soul  divine.  You  would  have  given  your  life  for 
mine,  —  for  only  the  chance  of  saving  mine." 


326    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  I  prayed  the  most  human  kind  of  prayer,  Han- 
ford.  It  was  to  live,  and  get  across  before  it  should 
be  too  late." 

"And  all  the  time  you  knew  you  might  die  in  the 
attempt." 

**  But  I  was  not  thinking  about  dying,  only  of 
living ;  and  anyway,  it  is  past  now,  and  we  are  both 
safe,  so  we  will  not  think  of  it  any  more,  will  we?" 

**  Forget  it  as  soon  as  you  can,  darling.  For  me, 
the  remembrance  is  sweet,  and  I  shall  treasure  it 
forever." 

Nearing  home,  they  heard  the  sounds  of  banjoes, 
and  negro  voices  singing,  and  of  laughter.  The 
guests  were  having  their  impromptu  concert  under 
the  trees,  where  lanterns  had  been  swung. 

*'  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  said  Marguerite.  *'  Don't 
let  them  know.  Let  me  go  in  by  the  garden,  by 
myself,  —  and  —  Hanford,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? 
Will  you  have  those  men  sent  to  prison?  The  man 
I  heard  talking  said  that,  first,  they  were  going  to 
shoot  you  or  throw  you  over  the  trestle,  as  they  did 
the  lawyer.  They  will  kill  you  yet,  Hanford,  if  they 
are  free." 

Hanford  was  tying  the  horse  by  the  little  garden 
gate,  that  he  might  walk  with  her  to  the  house 
without  being  descried  from  the  front. 

"What's  that?"  he  said  sharply.  "Over  the 
trestle  ?  So  !  That  was  the  way  he  was  disposed 
of!     Tell  me  everything  they  said." 

"Who  was  he?" 

"  The  lawyer,  Monk,  who  had  charge  of  your 
aunt's  affairs  here  in  Patterson.  He  was  suddenly 
missing  last  spring;   that  is  the  man.    To-morrow,  if 


Rescue  and  Surrender  327 

you  are  not  made  ill  by  all  you  have  done,  will  you 
tell  John  every  word  of  their  talk?  We  may  get  a 
clue  that  will  trace  his  murder  to  those  very  villains, 
and  so  bring  them  to  justice,  without  —  "  he  paused 
and  bit  his  lip.  "  Come,"  he  said,  **  we  must  go 
in  ;  you  are  hardly  able  to  stand.  Let  me  carry  you 
again  ;   you  are  not  heavy." 

*'  Yes,  I  am ;  besides,  I  can  walk.  Bring  them 
to  justice  without  what,  were  you  going  to  say?  " 

"  Let  me  tell  you  to-morrow,  sweetheart.  It  is 
only  that  you  must  not  be  dragged  in,  in  any  way." 

The  rear  of  the  old  house  was  entirely  deserted. 
Marguerite  led  the  way  to  the  stairway  leading  to 
Portia's  little  parlor,  then,  standing  on  the  step,  she 
turned  and  took  his  face  between  her  two  hands. 

"  Hanford,  now  that  I  have  done  this,  I  can  never 
say  again  what  I  said  to  you  this  afternoon  when 
you  left,"  and  with  a  shiver  and  half  a  sob,  she 
began  to  climb  the  stairs. 

Poor  heart !  she  had  yielded.  She  could  never 
again  say  "  I  am  free  "  like  the  birds  of  the  air. 
Her  wings  from  this  time  forth  were  to  take  her  at 
the  will  of  another.  Ah,  when  a  woman  gives  her 
heart  to  her  lover,  she  in  a  sense  dies  to  herself, 
whether  she  realizes  it  or  not.  More  often  she 
does  not;  and  for  him,  were  such  a  thought  pre- 
sented to  him,  he  would  say,  "  It  is  not  so,"  and  yet 
so  it  is.  In  this  instant  Hanford  realized  the  magni- 
tude of  his  desires.  He  sprang  after  her,  and 
gathering  the  drooping  little  figure  in  his  arms 
carried  her  the  remainder  of  the  way,  holding  her 
close  in  the  strength  of  his  desperation. 

"  Dearest,  does  it  hurt  you  so,  that  I  love  you  as 


328    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

I  do?  Yes,  men  are  selfish,  I  see  it;  for  if  I  could 
have  my  way,  I  would  hold  you  forever,  close,  —  I 
would  have  you  mine;  but  see,  it  takes  greater 
strength  of  love  to  open  my  arms  this  way  and  set 
you  free,  for  if  you  were  never  to  come  back  to 
them.  Marguerite,  I  would  rather  you  had  left  me 
as  you  found  me,  with  the  cords  wound  about  me 
in  the  darkness ;  but  go,  you  beautiful  soul,  be 
free.  If  you  wish  it, — must  it  be?  —  everything 
shall  be  as  it  was  between  us ;  only,  for  this  even- 
ing, darling,  I  will  keep  the  memory  of  it  sacred, 
and  believe  that  an  angel  came  and  cut  the  cords." 
He  took  both  the  cold  little  hands  in  his  and  kissed 
them.  '^  Good-bye,  free,  beautiful  little  hands.  I 
will  send  Miss  Van  Ostade  to  you.  You  will  perish 
from  this  exposure.     Good-bye." 

He  found  Portia  among  the  guests,  talking  with 
Miss  Katherine.  '*  Miss  Van  Ostade,  I  have  brought 
you  the  celery,"  he  said. 

*'  Oh,  Mr.  Clark,  you  are  safe  back.  I  am  glad. 
We  who  are  responsible  for  the  refreshments  will 
be  everlastingly  grateful  to  you  for  this.  I  will  go 
and  take  care  of  it." 

**  Indeed,  yes.  Yu  ah  ouh  benefactor,  Mr.  Clark," 
said  Katherine. 

*'  I  believe  I  am  nervously  glad  to  see  you  back," 
said  Portia,  as  he  walked  on  toward  the  house  at 
her  side.  "  I  have  had  a  troubled  feeling,  I  can't 
imagine  why,  as  of  something  dreadful  impending." 
Hanford  said  nothing  until  they  should  be  out  of 
hearing  of  the  others,  and  she  talked  on.  "  I  hope 
I  am  not  a  creature  of  fancies.  Mrs.  Marshall  has 
been  fretting  about  her  niece ;  she  was  nowhere  to 


Rescue  and  Surrender  329 

be  found  at  dinner.  That  may  have  added  to  the 
feeling  somewhat." 

Just  then  Clare  came  up  to  them. 

*'  Has  Miss  McLourie  returned?"  said  Portia. 

"  Non,  mademoiselle,"  there  was  an  anxious  note 
in  her  voice.  **  Et  madame,  she  look  efery  vair,  in 
ze  jardin,  efery  vair." 

"  Is  your  mistress  out  there  now  with  the  other 
guests?"    asked  Hanford. 

'*  Oui,  monsieur,  et  ze  is  distracted,  la  madame." 

"  I  saw  her  in  the  house  a  moment  since,  so  she 
cannot  be  lost,  tell  your  mistress."  He  spoke 
guardedly,  knowing  well  that  Marguerite  would 
prefer  to  tell  her  own  story,  and  that  she  would  tell 
it  first  of  all  to  Portia. 

"  You  were  right,  Miss  Van  Ostade,  there  has 
been  trouble ;  but  do  not  be  alarmed,  it  is  past. 
Miss  McLourie  will  tell  you,  I  am  sure.  She  pre- 
ferred to  go  to  your  room,  and  I  told  her  I  would 
send  you  to  her.  She  has  saved  my  life  at  the  risk 
of  her  own."  His  lips  quivered  with  emotion.  "  Go 
to  her;  she  is  drenched  through,  and  fatigued  to 
death.  Say  nothing  to  any  one,  —  for  —  I  think 
she  wishes  it.     Is  John  here?  " 

*'  Yes,  he  is ;  go  to  the  dining-room ;  I  have  dinner 
saved  for  you." 

''  Thank  you,  I  will  find  John  and  then  wait  on 
myself.     Don't  trouble  about  me." 

Portia  found  Marguerite  suffering  from  a  nervous 
chill,  and  without  waiting  for  any  explanations, 
helped  her  to  her  own  room,  warmed  and  com- 
forted, before  Clare  had  time  to  find  Aunt  Isabel, 
and  bring  her  in  from  "  ze  jardin," 


330    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Don't  try  to  tell  me  to-night,  little  sister,"  said 
Portia,  as  Marguerite  clung  sobbing  to  her  neck, 
weak  from  the  relaxation  of  her  nerves  after  their 
long  tension,  and  more  exhausted  than  she  knew. 
**  I  will  not  tell  any  one  a  thing  you  do  not  wish, 
only  that  you  were  not  well  and  have  retired.  I 
will  bring  you  some  hot  milk,  deary,  and  treat  you 
like  a  half-drowned,  half-starved  little  kitten,"  she 
said,  kissing  her  and  tucking  her  in. 

Ah,  yes  !  Portia,  with  the  true  instinct  of  a  lov- 
ing heart,  knew  what  the  little  sister  needed  most. 
She  took  away  the  wet  garments,  lest  Clare  find 
them  and  make  an  outcry  over  them. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

AUNT    ISABEL   REMONSTRATES 

THE  two  friends  stood  in  Hanford  Clark's  old 
quarters  at  Scrapp's,  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow, as  they  had  done  the  last  time  they  were  in  it 
together.  "  There,"  said  Hanford,  "  you  see  those 
two  dead  trees, — the  tall  ones  standing  together? 
They  must  be  upwards  of  a  hundred  feet  high,  and 
see  how  far  they  are  below  the  trestle.  They  have 
grown  out  of  a  bed  of  almost  solid  rock,  those  pines. 
If  a  man  fell  from  a  moving  train  at  that  point,  you 
can  easily  see  he  would  fall  into  the  next  world. 
That's  what  became  of  Monk." 

**  We  stood  here  and  saw  the  vultures  hovering 
over  that  spot,"  said  John.  **  Could  his  remains  be 
found  and  identified  now?     Hardly,  I  fear." 

**  Yes,  I  remember.  It  was  to  locate  the  spot  that 
I  brought  you  up  here.  Possibly  by  his  clothing, 
or  papers,  whatever  he  had  on  at  the  time,  he  might 
be  identified.  Chaplain  is  an  honorable  fellow.  He 
could  not  have  known  of  this." 

"  I  opine  not." 

*'  Well,  w^hat  *s  to  be  done?  " 

"  That 's  the  question,"  said  Hanford.  "  Party 
spirit  ran  high  last  spring,  but  that  feeling  has  sub- 
sided now.  This  attack  on  me  was  evidently  done 
in  revenge, — Button  being  out  of  the  way.     I  did 

33^ 


332    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

set  them  on  the  track,  and  I  also  advised  Button  to 
sell  out  and  take  himself  off." 

"  Why  did  they  pitch  on  you?  Why  did  n't  they 
take  Craig?  " 

"  Craig  is  a  shrewd,  cautious  fellow.  He  kept 
himself  well  out  of  it." 

'*  Have  you  seen  the  rascals  who  waylaid  you 
since?  " 

"  Not  I.     They  dare  not  show  up  yet." 

'*  Well,  the  question  still  remains,  what 's  to  be 
done?" 

"  I  can  go  back  to  New  York,  and  take  up  my 
profession  again." 

"  Stay  here  and  fight  it  out.     I  will  back  you  up." 

*'  I  can't.  Miss  McLourie  is  the  only  witness  I 
would  have  in  the  case." 

**  I  see.  You  are  a  noble  fellow,  and  she —  she  is 
—  a  brick ;   she  is  a  —  " 

"  An  angel, "said  Hanford.  "She  shall  be  spared 
all  annoyance." 

*'  Then  the  only  thing  to  be  done  is  to  intimidate 
those  fellows." 

'*  We  have  no  shadow  of  evidence  against  them." 

"  None  as  yet,  but  let  some  party  come  upon 
Monk's  remains,  there  may  be  evidence  found  to  do 
more  than  intimidate."  They  were  silent  a  minute, 
then  John  continued.  ''  We  would  better  consult 
Judson.  He  knows  these  men,  and  he  is  law  and 
gospel  to  them.  You  see  he  is  the  only  male  being 
they  have  any  respect  for,  —  a  true  Southern  gentle- 
man." 

As  they  crossed  over  to  the  lawyer's  old  rooms, 
where  Judson  and  John  had  their  offices,  they  en- 


Aunt  Isabel  Remonstrates  333 

countered  Portia  and  Miss  Katherine,  with  their 
carriage  heaped  full  of  green  branches  and  vines, 
and  flowers  from  Katherine's   old   garden. 

"Ah,  ha !  "  said  Hanford,  "you  are  going  to  make 
a  bower  of  the  ball-room." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Clark,"  cried  Miss  Katherine,  "you 
should  heah  the  ladies  back  at  the  house  praising 
you  foh  taking  that  trip  yesterday,  and  bringing  the 
celery.     Youah  ears  would  tingle." 

After  a  word  with  Portia,  John  began  speaking  to 
Miss  Katherine,  and  Hanford  stepped  into  his  place 
and  addressed  Portia  quietly.     "  How  is  she?" 

"She  seems  to  have  recovered  entirely;  is  a 
trifle  pale,  but  you  will  see  her  soon.  She  is  to 
follow  us  in  the  carriage  with  her  aunt,"  said  Portia, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  We  will  be  over  to  help  you  in  an  hour,  or  less," 
said  John  as  they  passed  on. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Portia;  "we  shall  need  your  ar- 
tistic judgment  there." 

"  You  will  need  workmen  and  tools  to  carry  out 
your  own  ideas,  more  likely." 

Judson  Chaplain  sat  tilted  back  in  his  chair,  smok- 
ing,—  handsome  and  indolent.  John  clapped  his 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  gave  him  a  shake. 
"  Rouse  up,"  he  said ;  "  Clark  and  I  want  you  to 
bring  all  the  powers  of  your  mind  to  bear  on  what 
we  have  to  say.     Now,  Hanford,  begin." 

"  I  think,  suh,"  said  Judson,  after  listening  intently 
until  Hanford  was  through,  "  you  should  leave  this 
whole  mattah  to  me.  I  know  these  fellows,  have 
lived  among  them,  so  to  speak,  and  I  know  right 
wheah  tu  put  my  hands  on  them,  and  they  know  it. 


334  When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

It's  not  worth  ouh  while  tu  prosecute,  unless  we 
get  enough  direct  evidence  tu  convict,  but  I  know 
the  men  who  ah  at  the  bottom  of  this." 

"  I  think  I  know  four  of  them  now,"  said  Hanford, 
grimly.  "  I  do  not  care  to  prosecute,  — not  if  pub- 
lic safety  can  be  secured  without  it." 

"  One  thing  I  wish  tu  say  befo'  we  go  any  fa'ther, 
suh,"  said  Chaplain,  addressing  Hanford,  and  regard- 
ing the  two  young  men  before  him  with  a  flash  of 
fire  in  his  eyes,  "I  wish  tu  say,  as  yu  ah  a  gentleman, 
suh,  yu  recognize  a  gentleman  when  yu  see  him,  — 
that  my  hands  ah  clean.  I  disclaim  all  knowledge 
of  the  dirty  trick  done  heah,  in  the  disposal  of  that 
rascally  lawyer,  suh,  and  —  " 

*'  It  is  not  necessary,"  interrupted  Hanford.  "  We 
have  no  suspicion  of  the  sort,  nor  could  we  have. 
You  are  a  gentleman,  sir,  through  and  through;  and 
although  you  are  of  the  South  and  I  am  of  the 
North,  we  yet  have  a  kinship  in  this,"  he  held  out 
his  hand,   and  the  other  sliook  it  warmly. 

'*  Then  we  understand  each  other,  suh.  Now,  will 
you  give  me  the  names  of  the  ones  who  attacked  yu 
last  evening?  I  will  ride  up  theih  to-day,  and  let 
them  know  that  they  ah  watched,  and  that  they  ah 
likely  tue  drag  a  ball  and  chain  foh  the  rest  of 
theih  lives.  They  shall  understand  that  the  one 
who  saved  youh  life  saved  theihs ;  and  as  foh  the 
other  matter,  I  will  probe  it  tu  the  bitter  end. 
They  gave  me  my  office  by  it,  but  I  am  pledged  tu 
uphold  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  moreovah  my 
honoh  is  at  stake." 

''You  are  right,  Judson,"  said  John,  gravely. 
"  There  is  no  other  way." 


Aunt  Isabel  Remonstrates         335 

"I  adaiire  your  spirit,"  said  Hanford,  rising. 
"  Now,  sir,  this  is  the  first  and  last  step  I  shall 
take  in  the  affair.  I  am  satisfied  that  you  will  do 
all  that  your  judgment  dictates  as  best;  moreover, 
I  bear  these  fellows  no  grave  ill-wilL  They  may, 
indeed,  have  rendered  me  a  service,  —  certainly,  if 
they  secure  to  me  your  friendship,  sir,  if  in  no  other 
way." 

''  You  ah  a  generous  man,  suh.  And  let  me 
assure  you,  you  need  have  no  cause  for  personal 
fear  hereaftah.  I  can  make  this  thing  plain  to 
them." 

*'  I  have  none.  Shall  we  go  over  to  the  hotel, 
John?  "  he  had  seen  Marguerite  and  her  aunt  drive 
past.  "Will  you  accompany  us,  sir?  The  ladies 
are  decorating  the  room  for  this  evening." 

So  the  three  friends  sauntered  up  the  winding 
paths  to  the  building,  which  was  fast  nearing  com- 
pletion, and  was  quite  imposing  in  appearance,  as 
well  as  wholly  artistic.  John  felt  a  sense  of  satis- 
faction and  pride,  as  he  called  attention  to  its  good 
points.  *'  I  feel  like  the  wicked  man  in  the  Bible," 
he  said,  '*  as  if  I  were  saying,  '  Is  not  this  great 
Babylon,  that  I  have  builded?'" 

"  I  believe  I  shah  in  that  feeling  also,"  said 
Judson. 

''  And  you  have  a  right  to,"  said  John. 

"  Your  uncle  must  wish  to  see  it,"  said  Hanford. 

**  I  have  had  it  photographed  at  every  stage,  and 
sent  the  pictures  on  to  him.  He  may  come  on  this 
fall  or  winter.  I  have  secured  a  manager  to  open  it 
the  day  the  last  workman  is  out." 

*' Have  you,  indeed?  "  said   Hanford.     ''You  are 


336     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

more  of  a  business  man  than  I  gave  you  credit 
for." 

''  And  why  so  low  an  opinion  of  my  business 
ability?" 

"  Oh,  you  are  an  artist,  you  know." 

John  laughed.  "  The  more  genius,  the  more  fool, 
eh?" 

They  found  the  ladies  in  the  midst  of  the  wildest 
confusion  of  materials,  chatting,  laughing,  and  mak- 
ing garlands.  Portia  stood  in  the  centre,  smiling 
and  rosy,  with  her  arms  full  of  honeysuckle  vines 
that  trailed  to  the  floor  and  filled  the  room  with 
their  fragrance. 

"  Here  are  more,"  she  was  saying.  *'  Where  shall 
I  put  them?" 

"  Yu  can't  du  betteh  than  tu  hold  them  just  like 
that.  We  will  put  yu  on  a  pedestal  at  the  end  of 
that  arch,  and  call  you  Flora,"  said  Miss  Katherine. 

"  And  keep  me  standing  still  all  the  evening  while 
the  rest  of  you  dance  !     Indeed,  no  !  " 
v|  John  watched  her  with  his  heart  in  his   eyes,  as 

she  dropped  the  vines  at  Miss  Katherine's  feet. 
*'  What  can  we  do  to  help  you?  "  he  said.  "  Com- 
mand us." 

His  mother  saw  the  light  in  his  face,  from  where 
she  stood  looking  on,  and  her  heart  was  filled  with 
resentment  towards  the  beautiful  girl  for  whom  it 
was  kindled. 

"  Oh,  we  ah  so  glad  yu  ah  come,"  said  Miss 
Katherine.  *'  Tell  us,  shall  we  put  the  musicians  up 
theah  on  the  gallery,  or  leave  that  foh  those  who  ah 
not  dancing,  and  screen  off  a  place  on  the  floor  in 
one  cornah  foh  them?" 


Aunt  Isabel  Remonstrates         337 

"  I  will  have  one  of  the  carpenters  put  up  a 
framework  under  the  end  of  that  arch,  where  you 
proposed  placing  a  pedestal  for  Miss  Van  Ostade, 
and  the  musicians  can  be  screened  off  there." 

*'  Now  that  I  approve  of,"  said  Portia.  "  Miss 
Wells'  suggestion  was  too  cruel." 

"  Yu  can't  escape,"  said  Miss  Katherine,  teasingly, 
as  Portia  sat  herself  down  beside  her.  *' You  will  be 
an  ohnament  all  the  same,  whethah  you  dance  o' 
pose  in  a  cornah." 

The  words  were  spoken  in  her  low  sweet  voice, 
that  none  but  Portia  should  hear.  Unconsciously  to 
herself,  she  had  opened  the  door  of  her  warm 
Southern  heart,  and  taken  in  this  sister  from  a 
colder  clime,  and  given  her  sweet  welcome. 

**  You  lovely  ladies  of  the  South  have  the  most 
tempting  way  of  giving  a  little  flattery,"  said  Portia, 
with  a  laugh.  ''  One  feels  like  believing  all  those 
nice  little  sugar-coated  things,  and  swallowing  them 
whole." 

"  I  am  not  the  only  one  who  thinks  so."  Kather- 
ine glanced  at  John  significantly.  He  was  giving 
directions  to  a  carpenter  whom  he  had  brought  in. 
Mrs.  Marshall  crossed  the  room,  and  stood  near  him 
talking  with  Judson  Chaplain. 

"  Oh,  don't,"  said  Portia,  instinctively  looking  at 
her. 

"  Miss  Van  Ostade,  come  here  and  see  how  this 
will  do,"  called  John. 

"  You  come  too,  Miss  Wells,  please,"  said  Portia, 
rising.' 

Marguerite  sat  in  a  window  near  her  aunt,  un- 
usually quiet  for  her,  tying  little  pink  and  blue 
22 


338     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

pencils  to  the  dainty  programme  cards  which  Mrs. 
Barry  and  Miss  Katherine  had  gotten  up  the  day 
before.  Hanford  stood  beside  her.  It  was  the  first 
opportunity  he  had  had  to  speak  with  her,  and  his 
hand  trembled  a  little  as  he  took  up  one  of  the 
cards. 

*'  May  I  mark  on  this?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  but  our  supply  is  very  limited.  I  warn 
you,  if  you  spoil  this,  you  can't  have  another  for 
this  evening." 

Mr.  Held  entered  as  she  spoke,  and  walked 
directly  to  her.  "  Ah,  so  this  is  what  you  are  do- 
ing? Glad  to  see  you  recovered,  Miss  McLourie. 
Was  it  my  thoughtlessness  in  keeping  you  sitting  so 
long  that  caused  the  headache?"  He  knelt  at  her 
feet  and  began  to  tie  in  the  pencils. 

"  Oh,  not  so !  You  don't  do  it  right,"  she  cried, 
taking  the  card  from  him. 

*^  Teach  me,  then.  You  can  teach  me  anything. 
What  are  you  up  to,  Mr.  Clark?  Securing  your 
dances  beforehand?     That  is   not  fair." 

Hanford  laughed.  "  Fair  or  not,  I  am  aware  that 
you  have  been  ahead  of  me,"  and  seeing  he  could 
not  talk  with  Marguerite  then,  he  walked  away. 

As  Katherine  and  Portia  crossed  the  long  room  in 
answer  to  John's  summons,  Portia  felt  something 
under  her  foot,  and  stooping,  picked  up  a  handker- 
chief, —  a  dainty  bit  of  linen,  lace,  and  embroidery, 
which  she  had  seen  in  Mrs.  Marshall's  hand  a 
moment  before. 

"  I  believe  this  is  yours,"  she  said,  handing  it  to 
her;  but  Mrs.  Marshall  seemed  to6  engrossed  in 
what  she  was  saying  to  heed  the  gentle  remark,  so 


Aunt  Isabel  Remonstrates         339 

Mr.  Chaplain  took  it.  As  Portia  turned  toward 
John,  she  heard  his  mother  say,  — 

"Thanks,  you  may  toss  it  out  of  the  window;  it 
has  been  under  her  feet." 

A  shade  of  pallor  passed  over  Portia's  face.  John 
flushed,  and  Judson  Chaplain  hesitated. 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  said  Marguerite.  "  It  is  too 
pretty  to  throw  away,"  and  she  tucked  it  in  her  belt. 
Her  aunt  lifted  her  eyebrows  and  her  shoulders 
simultaneously,  and  turning  addressed  John,  — 

**  What  are  you  contriving  now,"  she  asked 
carelessly,  *'  that  requires  so  much  consulting 
over?" 

John  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak,  and  turning 
strode  angrily  away. 

**  We  must  work  at  those  garlands,  oh,  we  never 
will  get  through,"  said  Miss  Katherine,  with  con- 
summate tact,  really  carrying  the  impression  that 
she  had  heard  nothing.  She  circled  her  arm  about 
Portia's  waist,  and  drew  her  back  to  her  seat  among 
the  vines. 

**  Shall  you  weah  lilac  this  evening?  It  is  your 
coloh  in  the  daytime,  but  at  night  you  should  weah 
pink  oh  pale   green." 

"  I  suppose  I  ought,  but  it  does  n't  matter.  I  may 
have  to  spend  my  time  looking  after  the  refresh- 
ments, you  know.  I  have  been  saving  Lucy  steps 
all  day,  so  I  can  bring  her,  and  Maggie  will  come 
also,  and  I  think  —  " 

*'  Let's  settle  the  question  of  the  dress  first.  Yes- 
tahday,  when  you  sent  me  to  your  wahdrobe  for  the 
apron,  I  saw  just  the  thing  I  want  to  see  you  in.  It 
is  a  pale  green." 


340    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Oh,  that?  I  have  had  it  two  years.  I  call  it  my 
relique.  It  is  a  Paris  gown,  and  was  saved  from  the 
fire  by  being  out  of  town  at  my  aunt's.  It  is  horri- 
bly out  of  style." 

Katherine  laughed.  *'  Only  two  yeahs  old,  why, 
it  is  brand  new.  Yu  should  heah  how  old  the  dress 
is  that  I  must  weah." 

**  Ah,  but  you  can't  help  appearing  well  dressed. 
You  would  be  quaint  and  fascinating  in  anything. 
To  prove  it,  there  is  Mr.  Held  looking  at  you  this 
minute,  —  thinking  of  putting  you  in  a  picture." 

Miss  Katherine  did  not  look  at  him.  "  He  has  a 
way  of  doing  so,  I  imagine.  Yu  will  weah  the  green, 
won't  yu?  " 

"  Yes,  and  it  is  very  sweet  of  you  to  care  what  I 
wear.     Perhaps  I  can  modernize  it  a  little." 

"  If  yu  ah  not  dead  aftah  all  this,  won't  yu  come 
ovah  and  sing  tue  ma,  like  you  did  last  week?  It 
brightens  her  life.     She  loves  tu  heah  yu  sing." 

Dear  Miss  Katherine !  Portia  should  not  be  al- 
lowed to  think  on  the  affront  she  had  just  received, 
and  borne  so  bravely;  and  yet  it  was  not  wholly  the 
sweet  courtesy  of  the  Southern  woman  that  prompted 
her.  Had  Portia  been  able  to  look  deep  into  the 
heart  of  her  sister  of  the  South,  she  would  have  found 
herself  linked  by  a  subtile  chain  of  love  to  the  gal- 
lant young  soldier  who  had  fought  and  died  in  the 
Confederate  army,  but  who  sat  enthroned  in  his  sis- 
ter's heart.  For  Donald  loved  John  and  John  loved 
Portia ;  so  Miss  Katherine  covered  the  wound  with 
a  gentle  touch,  that  helped  to  bring  healing,  and  as 
Portia  looked  into  her  eyes,  she  thought,  in  spite  of 
the  stab  she  had  just  received  from  one  of  them, 


Aunt  Isabel  Remonstrates         341 

"These  Southern  women  are  the  truest  and  sweetest 
in  the  world,"  and  perhaps  she  was  right. 

John  had  hardly  left  the  room  when  Lord  Chester- 
field, the  barber,  appeared.  He  had  come,  he  said, 
to  inquire  for  the  lady  who  was  looking  for  experi- 
enced waiters  for  the  evening,  and  to  ask  if  his  wife 
might  be  employed  for  the  occasion.  Chas  was 
gotten  up  faultlessly,  in  the  neatest  of  clothing  and 
the  whitest  of  linen,  and  being  as  white,  if  not  whiter 
than  old  Clarissa  herself,  with  his  thick,  silken  black 
hair,  his  small  black  mustache,  his  large  eyes  and 
pallid  face,  he  made  a  picture  that  was  striking,  al- 
most handsome,  as  he  stood  with  a  deference  that 
amounted  to  pomposity,  talking  to  Portia. 

Certainly,  Miss  Van  Ostade  would  see  his  wife,  — 
she  was  right  here,  would  Miss  Van  Ostade  '*  be  so 
kind  as  please  to  excuse  him?"  He  disappeared, 
and  reappeared,  bringing  Mrs.  Lord  Chesterfield 
Marshall,  nee  Louisa  Ann  Williams  of  Asheville, 
with  skin  as  soft  as  satin  and  black  as  night,  trim  of 
figure,  supple  of  waist,  large  of  mouth,  and  hair  of 
the  tightest  crimp.  Surely  Chas  had  done  well. 
Louisa  Ann  was  strong,  capable,  and  thrifty,  —  a 
rare  combination  in  one  of  the  rising  generation. 
But  how  was  this?  Was  he  not  courting  Miss 
Gabriella  Gunn  a  short  time  since,  with  all  the  ar- 
dor of  his  passionate  soul?  Yes,  and  with  such 
success  that  she  had  promised,  by  all  the  stars  in 
heaven,  to  be  true.  The  day  and  hour  were  set, 
the  wedding  feast  prepared  at  his  own  cost,  and  the 
guests  invited  to  partake  of  the  same,  when,  lo ! 
early  in  the  morning,  ere  the  dew  was  dry  upon 
the  leafy  spray,  looking  from  the  window  of  his 


342    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

parlor,  he  saw  the  jewel  of  his  heart,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  his  hated  rival,  enter  the  humble  dwelling 
of  the  colored  minister  and  carpenter.  Sending  a 
small  boy  to  peep  through  the  crack  of  the  door,  he 
learned  that  they  were  at  that  same  instant  becom- 
ing man  and  wife.  Was  his  heart  a  crumbling  heap 
of  ruins?  Not  at  all.  Wise  in  his  own  generation, 
he  had  other  strings  to  his  bow.  The  question 
he  had  found  in  his  cupidity  hard  to  decide,  had 
been  decided  for  him.  He  would  marry  Louisa 
Ann  Williams  and  her  three  hundred  dollars. 

He  quietly  boarded  the  train,  sped  to  Asheville, 
was  married,  and  returned  to  Patterson  the  same 
evening  with  his  lithe  and  dusky  bride  upon  his 
arm,  —  the  "  diamonds  "  sparkling  in  her  ears  and 
on  her  bosom,  that  he  had  bought  her  to  show  Miss 
Gunn  what  she  had  lost  by  her  rash  act,  —  in  time 
to  assist  in  disposing  of  the  wedding  feast,  and  in 
the  enjoyment  of  the  "  possom  "  which  Nancy  Gunn 
knew  so  well  how  to  prepare.  Thus  was  Miss  Gunn 
outwitted,  and  her  practical  joke  outjoked,  so  to 
speak,  for  ''the  weasel  was  not  caught  asleep."  But 
Gabriella,  conscious  of  her  own  superior  charms, 
sighed  not  for  the  "  diamonds."  She  asserted  that 
she  had  promised  to  be  Mrs.  Marshall,  and  she  had 
kept  her  word,  and  Louisa  Ann  was  quite  satisfied 
with  the  distinction  of  owning  the  "diamonds  "  and 
the  beau  of  the  village. 

Yes,  Miss  Van  Ostade  would  accept  of  Louisa 
Ann's  services,  and  she  might  begin  at  once,  as 
there  was  much  to  do.  Mrs.  Marshall  was  moving 
languidly  from  window  to  window  with  her  lor- 
gnette, looking  at  the  views,  and  listening  to  Judson 


Aunt  Isabel  Remonstrates  343 

descant  in  praise  of  the  location,  the  architect,  the 
enterprise,  the  place,  and  all  that  filled  his  generous, 
sanguine  heart.  Mrs.  Barry  and  Miss  Keller  had 
arrived  with  more  programmes,  Hanford  was  assist- 
ing Portia  and  Katherine  with  the  garlands,  and 
Mrs.  Barry  joined  them. 

**  Let  me  help  here,"  she  said ;  "  I  have  worked  at 
those  programmes  till  I  am  sick  of  them." 

Marguerite  still  sat  demurely  tying  in  pencils, 
with  Mr.  Held  at  her  feet,  awkwardly  assisting. 
Miss  Keller  attached  herself  to  them. 

"  You  see,"  she  addressed  herself  to  Mr.  Held, 
"  we  had  no  cards,  so  Mrs.  Barry  made  these  out 
of  her  stiff  water-color  paper.     Was  n't  she  clever?  " 

"  Water-color  paper !     Does  she  paint?  " 

**  Oh,  she  told  me  not  to  mention  it  on  my 
life.  She  was  afraid  you  would  ask  to  see  her 
sketches." 

**  Does  she  sketch?  better  still.  I  will  ask  to  see 
them." 

At  this  point  the  barber  reappeared,  bringing  his 
bride  for  Portia's  inquisition.  Marguerite  looked 
up.  She  had  not  noticed  him  before.  Her  eyes 
danced  with  a  mischievous  light.  Here  was  a 
chance  to  punish  her  aunt  for  her  unkind  thrust 
at  Portia  a  moment  since. 

"  Aunt  Isabel,  come  here  quick.  Look !  there 
is  your  nephew,  old  Pedro  Manuelo's  son.  Why 
don't  you  go  and  greet  him?  How  did  he  get 
away  up  here,  I  wonder !  " 

Mrs.  Marshall's  face  lighted  as  Marguerite  began 
her  speech,  and  she  put  up  her  lorgnette  and  gazed 
down   the   length   of  the   room   half   expectantly. 


344    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"Why,  it's  —  "she  made  a  quick  step  forward, 
then  dropped  her  glasses  in  disgust. 

**  Why,  it 's  —  certainly,  the  distinguished  Patter- 
son barber,"  Marguerite  mocked,  in  a  low  voice, 
and  then  laughed  out  a  clear  ringing  laugh  that 
echoed  through  the  great  vault  of  the  room,  in 
which  they  all  joined.  Even  her  aunt  found  it  not 
to  be  resisted  and  laughed  also. 

*'  Marguerite,  you  are  irrepressible,  and  your 
fun,  my  dear,  is  a  little  too  broad." 

"  I  know,  aunt,  but  it  was  really  dramatic.  A  start 
forward,  an  eager  look,  in  another  moment  you  would 
have  clasped  him  in  your  arms.  You  can  see,"  she 
said,  turning  to  the  rest,  "  how  strong  the  resem- 
blance must  be  to  deceive  Aunt  Isabel  so." 

"  You  can  see  how  prone  youth  is  to  make  fun 
of  the  infirmities  of  age,"  said  her  aunt,  tapping 
Marguerite's  cheek  playfully.  One  of  her  strongest 
passions  was  her  love  for  this  child,  amounting 
almost  to  idolatry,  superseding  even  her  love  for 
her  son.  With  her  indomitable  will,  she  had  de- 
termined John  should  marry  her,  if  she  had  to  kill 
all  possible  rivals,  and  drag  them  to  the  altar  in 
chains. 

"  She  helps  my  old  eyes  to  deceive  me,  and  then 
laughs  at  me.  Likeness  indeed !  Your  cousin 
is~" 

**  But  he  is  n't  my  cousin,  you  know,  aunt." 

*'  My  brother's  son  is  tall,  handsome,  a  verit- 
able Apollo,  —  and  to  compare  him  with  this  nigger 
fop  !  "  She  put  up  her  glasses  and  scrutinized  him 
sharply.  "  He  was  a  dandy  from  the  time  he  was 
able   to    strut    on   two    feet.     It   was    your  father, 


Aunt  Isabel  Remonstrates  345 

Marguerite,  who  dubbed  him  Lord  Chesterfield,  and 
poor  old  Clarissa  did  not  know  any  more  than  to 
have  him  baptized  by  the  whole  name." 

''  Watch  him.     Even  the  way  he  moves  his  hands 
is   like.     Why,    aunt,   the    Patterson    barber    might        / 
pass    for   your    brother's    son's    twin   brother,"  and 
Marguerite  heaved  a  profound  sigh. 

"  Marguerite,  what  freak  possesses  you  this 
morning?  " 

*'  It  is  nothing,  aunt,  only  I  was  so  reminded  of 
poor  Pedro.  You  see,"  she  turned  to  the  rest, 
"  there  is  young  Pedro  and  old  Pedro ;  and  young 
Pedro  always  makes  love  to  me  when  we  are  in 
Cuba." 

*'  I  don't  doubt  it,"  said  the  artist. 

"  Love-making  is  his  business,  and  he  is  very 
systematic  about  it.  He  has  reduced  it  to  a  fine 
art.  In  his  system,  there  are  three  stages.  First 
he  passes  my  window,  spies  me,  starts  back,  lingers 
a  moment,  throws  a  kiss  toward  the  lattice,  presses 
his  hand  to  his  heart,  and  rides  madly  away.  This 
is  the  beginning  and  the  end,  with  a  few  more 
such  scenes,  and  a  rose  or  two  thrown  in,  of  the 
first  stage." 

''Who  throws  the  roses?"  asked  Judson. 

''  Oh,  any  one,  possibly  Clare.  She  makes  aunt 
any  amount  of  trouble.  Then  at  dusk  he  comes  to 
my  window  and  sings  of  his  love  and  his  despair. 
I  drop  him  my  handkerchief  on  which  I  have 
written,  '  We  are  watched.  O  Pedro,  beware !  ' 
That  with  one  or  two  more  evenings  of  music, 
tender  and  despairing,  finishes  the  second  stage. 
At  last  he  calls  on  my  aunt  and  asks  for  my  hand, 


346    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

—  which  she  refuses  —  he  becomes  eloquent  — 
she  remains  obdurate  —  I  weep  —  he  implores  — 
she  is  firm — he  becomes  enraged  and  dashes  from 
her  presence  swearing  to  end  immediately  his 
miserable  existence — and  —  then  we  usually  take 
our  departure  northward,  and  he  begins  business 
with  renewed  ardor  in  some  other  direction,  and 
the  next  time  we  come  down,  he  repeats  the  same 
routine  with  few  variations.  Indeed,  they  are  not 
needed." 

**  I  think  I  should  wish  for  a  little  more  variety," 
said  Miss  Keller. 

**  Oh,  yes ;  you  would,  but  then  you  are  an 
American,  you  know.  Poor  Pedro,  it  is  time  he 
retired  from  business.  Perhaps  I  would  better 
marry  him  next  time,  aunt." 

"  You  are  chattering  far  too  much.  You  would 
better  go  back.     I  am  tired  of  waiting  for  you." 

**  Oh,  yes.  Poor  aunt,  I  know  you  must  be  tired. 
There  are  only  a  few  more  to  tie ;  I  will  leave  those 
to  you  and  Mr.  Held,  if  you  will  be  so  kind.  Miss 
Keller." 

Mr.  Held  looked  at  his  watch.  '*  I  think  I 
must — " 

*'  Oh,  you  surely  are  not  going  to  desert  me," 
said  Miss  Keller;  so  he  remained,  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  one,  the  delight  of  another,  and  the  chagrin 
of  himself. 

Hanford  accompanied  them  to  the  carriage, 
scarcely  speaking.  He  handed  them  in,  bowed,  and 
turned  toward  the  station.  He  had  been  unable 
to  say  a  word  more  to  Marguerite,  but  his  eyes  were 
eloquent,  when  for  a  single  glance  they  met  hers. 


Aunt  Isabel  Remonstrates  347 

"What  a  silent  fellow  !  An  odd  stick,  I  am  afraid," 
said  Mrs.  Marshall.  "  I  can't  imagine  what  ever 
John  sees  to  so  admire  in  him.  He  did  very  well 
as  a  professional  man  in  New  York,  but  to  come 
down  to  being  a  station  agent  in  a  miserable  little 
hole  like  this  —  " 

"  He  lost  his  health  there,  you  know,  Aunt  Isabel." 

*'  I  heard  him  say  he  was  perfectly  recovered  the 
other  day.  Why  does  n't  he  go  back,  and  take  up 
his  work  again  instead  of  being  an  employee  down 
here?  These  college  wonders  are  sure  to  drop  out 
of  sight  sooner  or   later." 

*'  I  would  gladly  tell  you,  aunt,  but  you  see  I  am 
not  supposed  to  be  his  confidante." 

"  So  you  have  n't  renewed  the  flirtation  you  began 
on  the  steamer,  then?     Wonders  will  never  cease." 

"  Aunt !  With  a  station  agent !  Do  you  think 
all  your  education  has  quite  gone  for  nothing? 
Now  you  suggest  it,  I  think  I  will;  it  will  relieve 
the  tedium  here."  Marguerite  leaned  back  in  the 
carriage  and  closed  her  eyes.  Her  aunt  thought 
she  looked  pale. 

"  Where  were  you  yesterday  when  we  could  not 
find  you,   Marguerite?" 

"  I  went  to  walk." 

"Alone?" 

"Yes,  why  not?" 

"  Oh,  my  child,  whatever  will  become  of  you 
when  I  am  taken  away  from  you?" 

"  You  must  n't  be  taken  away  from  me,  aunt. 
You  are  far  too  good  to  me.     I  do  not  deserve  it." 

Her  aunt  sighed.  "  If  you  would  only  yield  to  my 
wishes,  I  would  have  nothing  more  to  trouble  me.'^ 


34^    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Marguerite  was  silent.  "  Where  were  you  when  you 
were  not  walking?  You  couldn't  have  walked  all 
the  time." 

"  I  was  in  Miss  Van  Ostade's  little  parlor." 

**  In  her  room?  One  would  think  you  had  chosen 
this  young  boarding-house  keeper  for  your  most 
intimate  friend." 

"  I  thought,  aunt,  that  I  would  take  up  the  working 
classes  for  my  fad,  you  know  ;  and  as  she  is  the  most 
agreeable  of  them  I  have  ever  met,  I  have  chosen 
her  for  my  bosom  friend." 

"  Tush  !  You  know  very  well  she  does  not  belong 
to  that  class.     It  is  a  wretched  excuse." 

"  Oh,  doesn't  she?  I  supposed  she  did  from  the 
way  you  speak  of  her.  Then  she  must  belong  to 
the  aristocracy." 

"  She  is  a  Northern  hussy,  who  has  come  down 
here  to  make  money  out  of  the  poor  bleeding  South, 
—  that's  what  she  is." 

**  Do  we  represent  the  poor  bleeding  South?  You 
said  she  was  making  money  out  of  us,  but  we  seem 
to  be  quite  comfortable." 

"  Marguerite,  you  are  very  young.  You  should 
listen  to  the  opinions  of  those  who  are  really  your 
friends,  who  love  you.  Sometime  I  shall  be  gone, 
and  then  what  will  become  of  you?  What  will  be 
the  end  of  all  this  vacillation?  You  will  be  sur- 
rounded by  a  horde  of  vampires,  who  will  feed  upon 
you  until  there  is  nothing  left.  It  is  right  that  you 
should  listen  to  me.  Why  do  you  treat  John  so 
cruelly?  He  would  protect  you,  love  you  devotedly, 
if  you  would  only  let  him." 

Marguerite  laughed.     *'  Why,  aunt,  you  would  n't 


L 


Aunt  Isabel  Remonstrates  349 

have  me  go  down  on  my  knees  and  ask  him  to 
marry  me,  would  you  ?  If  he  does  n't  wish  to  be 
my  protector  and  all  that,  am  I  to  blame?" 

"  But  you  avoid  him.  You  never  allow  him  an 
opportunity  to  be  even  alone  with  you." 

"  Did  n't  I  spend  a  whole  hour  alone  with  him 
this  very  morning,  in  the  most  earnest  kind  of 
conversation?  " 

"Yes,  poor  fellow,  with  his  great  warm  heart! 
He  came  right  to  me,  and  spent  his  breath  in  prais- 
ing you.    He  seemed  to  have  found  new  reasons  for 

admiring  you." 

Marguerite  was  touched.  She  leaned  over  and 
patted  her  aunt's  hand.  "  You  have  always  been 
good  to  me,  aunty  dear,  and  so  has  John,  even  if  we 
did  fight,  he  and  I." 

"  Cannot  you  get  over  that  childish  quarrel  ?  " 
''  Oh,  yes.     We  got  over  it  long  ago." 
''I  was  so  happy,  so  encouraged,  this  morning, 
and  there  that  girl  had  to  step  in  between  you  again  ; 
I  could  have  struck  her  down." 

"Now,  Aunt  Isabel,"  said  Marguerite,  flashing 
quickly,  "  let 's  speak  the  truth  for  once  and  talk 
sense.  Miss  Van  Ostade  is  beautiful.  We  know  it, 
and  what  is  the  use  in  denying  it?  Every  one  in 
the  house  admires  her,  and  she  is  good.  Now! 
Aunty,  I  will  make  you  a  promise.  I  will  be  as 
good  to  John  as  I  know  how,  for  a  week.  I  will 
ride  and  walk  with  him,  drive  with  him,  talk  with 
him,  go  over  his  old  hotel  with  him,  and  be  nice  to 
him  generally  for  a  whole  week,  and  if  at  the  end  of 
that  time  he  has  n't  seen  fit  to  propose  over  again, 
why,  then,  I  will  do  as  I  please." 


3 50    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

'*  And  what  will  you  please  to  do?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  covered  a  yawn  with  her  fingers,  **  I  '11 
do  something.  I  '11  be  an  American  girl  out  and 
out.  I  '11  do  what  I  please,  without  reference  to  any- 
body on  earth,  as  Miss  Keller  does.  I  '11  marry  the 
station  agent,  I  beheve,  —  and  live  happily  ever 
after." 

"  Marguerite !    I  thought  you  were  going  to  be 


serious." 


•*  I  am,  aunt,  very  serious."  They  were  driving 
into  the  yard  now,  and  Marguerite  leaned  forward 
and  looked  into  Mrs.  Marshall's  eyes  with  a  laughing 
light  in  her  own.  **  I  will  tell  every  one  here  that 
that  nigger  fop  is  the  exact  counterpart  of  some 
of  your  Spanish  relatives  if  you  are  nasty  to  Miss 
Van  Ostade  again,"  she  said. 

Her  aunt  laughed.  **  To  think,  my  dear,  that 
you  should  be  so  guileless.  Can't  you  see  that 
she  is  like  all  the  rest  of  her  class,  ready  to  toady 
to  wealth?     I  have  no  patience  with  you." 


CHAPTER    XXV 
PORTIA   SINGS  THE  OLD    SONGS 

AFTER  Mrs.  Marshall's  departure,  Portia,  glad 
to  be  relieved  of  the  oppressive  presence, 
flew  about,  directing  Louisa  Ann,  and  rapidly  bring- 
ing order  out  of  chaos.  John  returned,  bringing  the 
framework  on  which  draperies  and  garlands  were  to 
be  hung. 

*'  Here  is  the  screen  for  the  musicians,"  he  said. 
"What   are  we  to    do  for    lights?"    asked    Mrs. 

Barry. 

**  We  have  a  gas-tank,  —  it  should  be  tested, 
though,"  said  Judson.  *'  It  might  not  be  fully  in 
order.     What  do  you  say,  John?  " 

"Test  it  by  all  means,  if  the  fixtures  are  done." 

"  And  if  it  should  not  work?  "   said  Mrs.  Barry. 

"  We  might  bring  over  lamps  from  the  house," 
said  Portia. 

"  We  shall  task  you  for  nothing  more,"  said  John. 
"  Hanford  can  loan  us  some  head-lights." 

"  Miss  McLourie  promised  to  send  the  carriage 
back,"  said  Portia.  "  I  wonder  what  time  it  is  ! 
Think  of  my  running  away,  with  forty  boarders.  I 
must  go  home." 

Katherine  laughed.  "  Youh  speaking  of  youh 
forty  boarders  makes  me  think  of  the  '  Forty 
thieves.'     Now   tell    me,    did    you    run    away   with 

351 


352    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

them,  or  have  they  run  away  with  you  ? "  But 
Portia  was  already  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room. 

"  Oh,  we  run  away  with  her,"  said  Mrs.  Barry. 
**We  are  never  satisfied  unless  she  is  with  us.  She 
must  plan  for  us,  sing  to  us,  get  up  costumes  for  our 
charades,  talk  to  us, —  do  you  know  how  well  she 
converses  ?  She  has  no  invalids  now  to  look  after, 
luckily,  except  her  mother,  and  she  is  the  sweetest 
woman  on  earth." 

"  Mamma  is  no  invalid  now,"  said  Portia,  return- 
ing. "  She  is  much  stronger.  She  takes  all  the 
responsibility  of  the  lunches  for  me.  That  is  how  I 
can  run  away  like  this." 

"  The  carriage  is  here,"  said  John,  and  they  all 
went  out,  leaving  the  great  room  in  charge  of  the 
capable  Louisa  Ann. 

"  Oh,  I  must  say  a  word  more  to  the  bride,"  said 
Portia,  running  back.  "  Don't  wait;  I  will  be  right 
out." 

When  she  returned  she  found  John  waiting  alone, 
standing  beside  a  beautiful  little  trap,  and  Brown 
Betty  in  the  harness. 

"  See  what  I  have  done,"  he  cried  gleefully.  ''  I 
have  sent  them  all  on.  Miss  Katherine  and  all.  I 
brought  her  over  in  this,  and  now  I  am  going  to 
take  you  back  in  it,  and  have  you  one  whole  delicious 
hour  all  to  myself.     It  is  only  half  after  eleven." 

*'  John,  you  have  outwitted  me,"  she  said  in  dis- 
may, looking  after  the  carriage  as  it  disappeared 
around  the  corner  of  the  notion  store. 

'*  Yes,  and  now  I  have  you  in  a  trap,"  he  said, 
lifting  her  in.  She  laughed  merrily  at  the  foolish 
pun,  as  he  settled  himself  beside  her. 


Portia  Sings  the  Old  Songs         353 

"  What  a  beautiful  little  rig !  and,  John,  what  a 
man  you  are  !  " 

"  The  first  time  we  ever  drove  together,  we  had 
the  Gebbs*  buggy  and  the  little  gray  pony,  and  it 
was  Mr.  Russell  who  was  outwitted.  Dick  Button 
told  me  they  drove  on  for  a  joke,  because  he  was 
contriving  to  be  left  behind  for  the  sake  of  being 
left  alone  to  drive  with  you."  Portia  gave  a  radiant 
glance  into  his  face,  but  said  nothing.  **  Poor 
fellow !  He  wanted  the  seat  beside  you.  I  wanted 
it  too,  and  it  fell  to  me,"  he  added  gently,  "  and  it  is 
mine  forever."  He  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  the 
light  in  hers  was  his  only  answer.  "  Do  you  notice 
what  I  am  doing,  having  your  little  horse  trained  to 
drive?  Come,  Brownie,  pick  up  your  feet.  She  is 
lazy,  it  is  so  warm.  I  shall  get  the  nobbiest  little 
turnout  in  New  York  for  you,  and  —  " 

"  You  are  far  too  good  to  me,  John.  You  must  n't 
do  these  things." 

"  Must  n't  I  ?    And  why  not  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  see  how  it  is  hurting  your  mother, 
that  you  —  that  we  are  loving  each  other?  I  felt 
abashed,  humiliated  in  the  dust." 

His  eyes  flashed  with  the  fire  of  anger.  "  Even 
my  mother  is  not  precious  to  me  when  she  strikes 
at  you.  She  knew  she  had  me  in  her  power,  that 
before  all  those  others  I  could  say  nothing."  He 
bit  his  lip  to  keep  back  the  torrent  of  words  too 
bitter  for  him  to  utter. 

"  I    did  n't  feel    bitter,  John,  because   you,    with 

your  great  loving  heart,  bore  the  blow  for  me.     I 

forgot  it  was  me  she  struck  as  I  saw  you  walk  away. 

I  am  going  to  talk  a  little  plain  common-sense,  to 

23 


354    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

make  a  speech,  and  you  (to  pay  for  running  away 
with  me)  must  Hsten  in  patience.  We  may  not 
have  the  chance  to  have  a  good,  quiet,  serious  talk 
again  for  days,  you  know." 

They  had  turned  into  a  road  leading  through  pine 
forest,  where  the  shadows  were  heavy  and  cool, 
and  the  air  full  of  resinous  fragrance.  John  drew 
the  little  horse  down  to  a  walk,  and  her  hoofs  fell 
on  the  carpeted  path  as  if  she  trod  on  velvet. 
He  placed  his  hand  on  Portia's  with  a  touch  that 
thrilled  through  her  nerves  like  wine.  **  I  will 
listen  to  you,"  he  said,  with  a  happy  laugh,  *'  as 
long  as  you  keep  to  the  common-sense,  but  if  you 
utter  a  word  of  sophistry,  I  will  not  listen  to  you, 
no,  not  even  if  you  sing  it." 

She  would  have  withdrawn  her  hand,  but,  with 
an  impulse  that  carried  her  beyond  her  reserve 
she  lifted  his.  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it.  *' It  is 
hard  to  say  the  plain  reasonable  things  to  you  I 
ought.  Your  loving  intoxicates  me.  You  have 
entered  into  my  heart,  —  into  my  very  soul."  She 
paused,  and  he  bent  forward  and  looked  into  her 
eyes.     They  swam  in  tears. 

"  So  deep  and  true,"  he  said,  **  will  they  always 
shine  for  me  like  this?  " 

She  turned  her  face  away.  ''  John,  don't  make 
it  so  hard  for  me  to  say  what  I  ought.  I  want 
first  to  make  you  understand  how  I  love  you, — 
but  if  I  do  that,  I  can  never  go  any  further." 

*'  That  is  far  enough.  Come,  I  will  listen  to  that 
forever,  and  there  shall  be  no  end." 

"  Love,  that  is  born  of  the  highest,  should  cast  no 
shadow  on  any  human  soul,"  she    paused,  and  he 


Portia  Sings  the  Old  Songs         355 

was  silent.  **  Ours,"  she  continued,  "  brings  unhap- 
piness  to  the  one  of  all  others  whom  you  should 
not  hurt.  Because  she  is  your  mother,  she  shall 
be  dear  to  me.  Ought  we  not  to  put  aside  our 
own  wishes?  What  shall  we  do?"  Still  he  was 
silent.  **  Is  it  right  that  in  our  loving  we  should 
hurt  another?  Think  what  it  must  be  to  her.  She 
is  being  crossed  in  everything.  Oh,  John,  if  I, 
who  have  known  you  so  short  a  time,  love  you 
as  I  do,  what  must  you  be  to  her?  I  felt  this 
morning  as  if  I  must  kneel  to  her  and  beg  for 
forgiveness,  or  else  to  be  taken  into  her  heart 
with  you.  Why  couldn't  you  have  done  as  she 
wished  so  long  ago,  before  ever  you  knew  me? 
If  you  had  loved  that  beautiful  girl,  —  how  could 
you  help  doing  so,  —  then  your  mother  would  have 
been  happy;  but  now  she  hates  me  because  I 
have  come  between  her  and  her  dearest  wishes, 
and  all  her  lifelong  prejudices  weigh  against  me. 
There  is  a  wrong  somewhere." 

*^  Portia  —  " 

"  Ought  we  not  to,  at  least,  cover  up  this  love, 
set  it  aside,  perhaps  for  years,  if  need  be?" 

*'  No,  no,  no  !     I  say  no  !   Portia." 

''  But  can  we,  even  for  the  greatest  good  that 
could  come  to  us,  can  we  ride  over  your  mother's 
heart?" 

"  I  tell  you,  Portia,  this  is  sophistry.  Love  and 
respect  I  owe  my  mother,  and  honor;  but  when 
a  man  has  reached  my  age,  even  his  mother  has 
no  right  to  rule  over  his  spirit.  Some  things  are 
sacred  even  from  her  interference,  and  only  to  his 
God   is   he  answerable.     No   power  on   earth  shall 


356    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

take  you  from  me,  Portia.  —  Dearest,  dearest,  take 
your  hands  from  your  face,  and  say  the  words  with 
me.  Say  them.  No  power  on  earth  shall  take  you 
from  me." 

"  Oh,  John,  if  I  could  feel  in  my  heart  that  it  is 
right." 

*'  Then  feel  it  in  my  heart,  Portia,  for  I  know.  As 
I  hold  you  now,  so  shall  it  be  forever.  My  heart 
shall  be  the  nearest  to  your  own.  If  I  could,  I 
would  hold  you  with  an  irresistible  power,  —  but 
I  cannot.  It  is  you  who  hold  me  so,  although 
you  do  not  know  it.  Now  will  you  say  the  words 
with  me?     No  power  on  earth  —  " 

"  When  I  have  earned  the  right,  John.  I  will 
set  myself  with  all  my  heart  to  win  your  mother 
to  love  me,  if  only  a  little,  and  then,  I  promise  you, 
I  will  put  away  all  personal  pride,  I  will  accept 
from  you  all,  all !  when  I  am  able  only  to  give 
my  poor  self  to  you." 

"Your  bountiful,  beautiful  self.  I  would  give  up 
all  I  have  on  earth  rather  than  lose  you." 

"  Wait,  John,"  she  placed  her  hand  over  his  lips, 
''don't  say  those  things  —  I  have  asked  you  so 
many  times  —  until  I  have  earned  them  —  until  I 
am  really  yours." 

"  We  never  earn  anything  in  this  world,  Portia. 
I  have  never  earned  your  love,  but  I  have  it." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  time.  At  last  John 
broke  the  spell.  "  And  when  is  all  this  to  be  fin- 
ished? It  cannot  go  on  forever,  —  when  will  you 
say  of  yourself,  I  am  really  his?" 

She  drew  herself  up,  and  looked  in  his  face  with 
the  clear,  steady  light  in  hers  that  seemed  to  him 


Portia  Sings  the  Old  Songs         357 

always  like  inspiration.  "You  recall  me  to  earth 
again,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand  with  gentle  firm- 
ness. "  There  !  now  drive  with  both  hands."  He 
obeyed.  *'  I  have  a  bright  idea,"  she  said  after 
another  moment's  silence.  **  To  be  sure  of  the 
right  from  some  other  source  than  your  —  Love 
is  bhnd,  you  know,  and  you  may  be  blinded  —  I 
know  you  are,  from  some  things  you  have  said  in 
the  last  few  minutes.  No.  I  say  you  must  drive 
with  both  hands." 

''And  I  say,  I  need  but  one.  Go  on  with  your 
bright  idea." 

*'  Please,  John,  I  will  not  let  you  blind  me  also. 
There,  hold  the  lines,  so,  —  and  here  is  the  whip, 
hold  it  too.  Now  listen.  I  am  going  to  sing  for 
your  beautiful  old  friend  to-morrow.  I  feel  that 
those  whose  eyes  are  closed  to  the  world  around 
them  have  clearer  spiritual  insight  than  we  have, 
and  that  is  what  we  need  now,  you  and  I.  I  could 
talk  with  grandfather,  or  my  own  sweet  mother, 
but  they  are  both  too  nearly  interested  through 
their  love  for  me,  and  the  pride  I  told  you  of. 
Mrs.  Wells  will  be  able  to  be  just,  and  if  anything 
will  be  influenced  the  other  way,  through  the  old- 
time  prejudices,  you  know,  —  but  I  think  she  is  so 
near  heaven  that  even  these  may  have  slipped  from 
her." 

"  What  if  she  decides  against  me?" 

"  We  will  wait." 

"But  if  she  says  forever?  That  would  be  an 
earthly  power  coming  between  us.  No,  I  cannot 
consent  to  that." 

"  Are  you  sure  it  would  be  of  this  world?" 


358    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

•'  You  may  do  it,  if  you  will  sivg  to  her  first." 

"  I  may  not  be  able  to  sing  for  her  afterwards." 

"  Very  well,  then  I  am  safe.  Only  then  she  may 
say  I  am  not  good  enough  for  an  angel." 

"John!   don't  be  absurd." 

"If  she  decides  for  me,  then  what  will  you  do? 
Will  you  consider  it  then  as  a  voice  from  heaven?  " 

She  did  not  reply  immediately,  and  he  felt  her 
agitation.  "See,"  he  said,  "  how  nicely  I  can  man- 
age the  little  horse  with  one  hand.  Now  what  will 
you  do?  " 

"  What  if —  I  should  not  be  able  to  put  this  mat- 
ter to  her  in  such  a  way  as  not  to  influence  her?" 
she  said  in  an  anxious  voice. 

"  Portia,"  he  said  softly,  "  you  are  hardly  of  the 
earth  yourself,  my  beautiful.  I  only  fear  your  ab  • 
normal  conscience  will  not  let  you  be  fair  to  my 
cause.     Let  me  put  it  to  her." 

"  You  know  you  could  not  do  it,  John."  She 
freed  herself  from  his  touch  as  before.  "  You  must 
not  hold  me  like  this,  no.  But  I  promise  you,  if  I 
can  lay  our  case  before  her  in  a  plain  enough  way, 
bare  of  all  my  heart  might  plead  for  you  or  for  me, 
that  I  will  take  her  answer  as  a  voice  from  heaven. 
What  are  you  doing,  John?" 

"Turning  around." 

"  I  know,  but  are  n't  you  going  to  take  me 
home.?" 

"  Not  now.     I  am  going  to  take  you  to  her." 

"  But  they  will  be  at  lunch.", 

"  That  is  nothing.  What  is  eating?  I  heard  you 
say  at  the  hotel,  you  were  not  needed  at  home  at 
this  hour,  —  go  with  me.     I  can  make  it  all  right 


Portia  Sings  the  Old  Songs         359 

with  Katherine,  and  her  mother  will  think  nothing 
of  it.  How  can  I  eat  or  sleep  or  rest,  if  you  are 
going  to  abide  by  this,  until  I  know?  No,  I  am 
only  arranging  the  cover;  see,  I  am  obedient.  But 
if  I  may  not  touch  you,  nor  even  speak  what  my 
heart  prompts  to  you,  I  will  look  at  you  and  think 
what  thoughts  I  please." 

So  once  more  her  lover  had  his  way,  and  led  her 
up  to  the  blind  woman's  door  just  as  they  were 
about  to  sit  down  to  the  lunch  table.  "Will  you 
let  two  starving  fellow-mortals  eat  with  you  ? "  he 
called  cheerily.  "  I  brought  Miss  Van  Ostade  here 
against  her  will,  or  rather,  at  my  own  will,  to  —  to 
—  sing  for  your  mother." 

Miss  Katherine  was  delighted.  ''  It  is  really  like 
the  old  days  ah  here  again,  John,"  she  said ;  "  when 
people  just  happened  in  at  any  time,  and  we  always 
had  company  at  meals.  Ma,  here  is  Miss  Van 
Ostade.  John  brought  her  to  sing  for  you  after 
lunch." 

"  A  case  of  little  Tommy  Tucker,  —  only  I  get 
my  supper  first  and  sing  afterwards,"  said  Portia. 

"And  you  are  just  in  time,  my  dear,"  said  the 
blind  woman,  warmly.  There  was  a  little  tremor  in 
Portia's  hands  when  she  clasped  them  in  both  her 
own,  and  when  she  took  John's  arm  as  he  led  her  out 
to  the  table  (she  always  looked  for  him  to  lead  her 
out  to  meals  when  he  was  with  them),  she  noticed 
the  same  tremor  there. 

"Why  does  your  arm  tremble?"  she  said,  so 
quietly  that  only  he  heard  her. 

"Does  it?  I  am  a  little  tired,  perhaps.  I  have 
been  driving,  you  know." 


360    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Does  driving  make  you  tired,  a  great  strong  fel- 
low like  you?"  She  placed  her  other  hand  on  his, 
and  knew  in  an  instant  that  the  tremor  came  from 
his  heart,  and  that  she  was  treading  on  forbidden 
ground.  She  turned  her  sightless  eyes  toward  him 
as  though  she  could  read  the  lines  of  his  face,  and 
was  silent ;  but  for  him,  he  was  even  more  tender 
of  her  than  usual,  as  he  gently  placed  her  in  her 
chair,  and  lifted  her  in  it  with  his  strong  arms  to  the 
table. 

After  lunch  Portia  sang,  while  the  old  lady,  lean- 
ing back  in  her  chair,  closed  her  eyes  and  listened. 
She  sang  all  the  songs  she  could  remember,  both 
grave  and  gay,  and  John,  seated  in  the  doorway, 
with  his  hands  clasped  about  his  knees,  listened  also. 
Miss  Katherine  was  busied  with  her  household 
cares.     ''  Ma"  was  happy,  and  she  was  content. 

"  I  have  sung  all  the  songs  I  know  without  my 
music,"  said  Portia  at  last. 

"Ah,  don't  stop  yet.  Sing  them  over  again," 
said  the  blind  woman. 

*'  I  will  sing  some  of  these,"  said  Portia,  selecting 
from  the  music  lying  on  the  piano  some  of  the 
songs  that  had  stirred  the  hearts  of  the  boys  in  gray 
to  deeds  of  heroic  courage  and  even  of  desperation. 
She  began  one. 

'*  Don't  sing  that,"  said  John,  entering  and  laying 
hold  of  the  music. 

*'Yes,  let  her.  It  is  good  of  you,  Miss  Van 
Ostade.      I    long    to    hear    the    old    songs    once 


more." 


(( 


And  I  am  not  singing  for  you,  Mr.  Marshall. 
You  brought  me  here  to  sing  for  her," 


Portia  Sings  the  Old  Songs         361 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  if  you  do  not  like  them,  you  can 
go  back  North  again,"  said  his  old  friend,  with  a 
laugh. 

He  gave  one  imploring  look,  but  still  Portia  sang 
the  old  songs,  and  he  strolled  out  and  sat  on  the 
ofarden  seat  where  he  had  sat  with  Miss  Katherine, 
on  that  day  when  the  voice  he  heard  now  had  begun 
to  sing  a  new  song  in  his  heart.  **  Yes,"  he  said  to 
himself,  ''  I  loved  her  before  I  saw  her,  when  I  sat 
in  the  dark,  and  she  sang  to  me." 

When  Portia  finished,  she  turned  and  saw  the 
blind  woman  leaning  back  in  her  chair  with  closed 
eyelids,  but  two  tears  had  escaped,  and  trembled, 
one  on  either  cheek.  Then  Portia  went  quickly 
and  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  taking  one  of  the  dear  old 
hands,  so  soft  and  white,  in  hers,  she  kissed  it. 
"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  ''  for  bringing  the  past 
before  you  and  making  you  sad." 

"  The  sadness  is  only  the  remembrance  of  sorrow 
that  is  gone,  dear,  and  the  dawn  and  the  opening 
of  the  eyes  is  before  me,"  she  placed  her  hand  on 
Portia's  head.  "  Bless  you,  daughter  of  the  North, 
and  thank  you.  I  love  sweet  music;  and  a  sweet 
voice ;  but  in  singing  the  old  songs  of  the  boys  in 
gray,  you  have  sung  your  way  deeper  into  my 
heart.     What  have  I  to  forgive?" 

Then  Portia  bowed  her  head  under  the  gentle 
touch,  and  opened  her  heart  to  its  very  depths,  to 
the  clear  seeing  of  the  blind  woman's  spirit,  and 
there  was  silence  for  a  few  moments,  until  Portia 
spoke  again  imploringly, — 

"  Tell  me  what  is  right.  You  are  wise  and  true. 
You  see  into  heaven,  as  you  sit  here  with  your  eyes 


362    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

closed  to  all  earthly  sights.  I  have  promised  John 
I  will  abide  by  what  you  say.  Can  love  be  right 
when  it  hurts  another?  Can  we  call  it  God-given 
when  his  mother  is  cut  to  the  heart  by  it?  An- 
swer these  questions  for  me,  —  I  am  afraid  of 
them." 

*'  This  is  a  grave  question  to  lay  upon  me, 
daughter."  She  drew  Portia  closer  to  her  side,  and 
placing  one  hand  on  her  face,  touched  her  lightly, 
tracing  the  contour  of  her  features.  "  Let  me  know 
you  this  way.  I  think  — "  she  went  on  slowly,  as 
Portia  turned  her  face  toward  her,  giving  herself 
into  her  hands,  *'  I  think  it  is  a  beautiful  face,  and  I 
should  judge  to  find  here  a  beautiful  soul,  as  the 
voice  that  interprets  it  to  me  is  beautiful.  Why 
should  he  not  love  you?" 

*'  Because  his  mother  hates  me.  She  has  the  old- 
time  prejudices,  and — she  had  hoped  for  another 
choice  for  him.  She  is  frail,  she  loves  him  so,  —  and 
she  is  his  mother.  I  have  a  sense  of  guilt  when  I 
think  of  the  pain  we  are  inflicting.     And  yet  —  this 

—  that  has  come  to  me  —  "  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  ''  I  have  let  you  see  into  my  heart, 

—  how  can  I  put  it  from  me  ?  But  if  it  is  right,  I 
must.  What  is  right,  should  be  to  us  as  necessity. 
If  she  never  can  be  won  to  love  me  —  you  had  — 
you  must  have  had  the  same  prejudices,  the  hatred 
of  us  of  the  North  that  she  has,  you  too  lost 
your  dearest,  more  even  than  she.  I  sang  those 
songs  because  I  wished  —  you  are  so  far  above 
most  of  us  —  I  wished  to  awaken  the  old  spirit  in 
you  if  it  might  be  sleeping,  and  then  ask  you  to 
judge,  with  that  in  your  heart,  as  if  John  were  your 


Portia  Sings  the  Old  Songs         363 

own.  Could  you  love  me  then,  and  take  me  as 
John's  wife?  Could  you  be  content,  and  say,  *  it 
is  right '?  " 

''That  way  of  judging  might  satisfy  your  con- 
science, but  the  emotional  way  would  not  be  the 
right  way.  You  wish  to  put  it  to  the  severest  test, 
but  let  us  be  reasonable.  You  are  of  good  family, 
are  you  not?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Portia,  lifting  her  head  quickly,  '*  and 
without  stain.  My  father  was  of  Dutch  ancestry, 
from  one  of  the  best  families  in  New  York.  My 
mother  is  descended  from  a  noble  Puritan  family,  of 
pure  English  strain;  they  were  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, statesmen  and  scholars,  of  noble  birth.  I  am 
proud  of  my  heredity,  if  I  do  —  " 

"  It  is  not  what  you  do  ;  it  is  what  you  are.  We 
have  learned  that  lesson  here  in  the  South.  I  see 
no  reason  why  she  should  be  bitter  toward  you. 
The  wrong  is  on  her  side.  John  has  the  right  to 
choose.  A  man  cannot  be  always  subservient  to 
his  parents,  —  he  could  not  be  and  be  a  man.  His 
mother  should  respect  his  manhood." 

Portia  rose  and  stood  at  the  window.  She  saw 
John  pacing  the  garden-paths,  and  turning  impetu- 
ously she  knelt  again  at  the  blind  woman's  feet. 
*'  Put  your  hands  on  my  head  once  more,  and  bless 
me,"  she  said.  "  I  must  go  to  him  and  tell  him 
quickly;  you  are  right,  if  I  love  him,  I  must  put 
him  first.  First  of  all,  he  must  stand  in  my  heart," 
and  once  again  the  old  hands  were  laid  on  her  head 
in  blessing. 

Then  Portia  rose,  and  bending  over  the  old  lady's 
chair  kissed  her,  and  hurried  away.      She  sought 


364    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

for  Katherine  at  the  far  end  of  the  house,  where 
the  stores  were  kept. 

"  I  am  going,"  she  called,  with  a  ring  of  joy  in 
her  voice ;  ''  don't  come,  I  will  see  you  this  evening. 
Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,"  called  Katherine ;  "  weah  the  pretty 
green,  remembah." 

'*  Surely  I  will,"  said  Portia,  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE    OLD    DAYS    REVIVED 

YES,  truly,  past  days  were  being  revived  with 
a  spirit  which  seemed  to  combine  the  rich, 
rare  flavor  of  the  old  with  the  sparkle  and  energy 
of  the  new.  Miss  Katherine  felt  the  thrill  of 
pleasure  that  had  tingled  through  her  nerves  in 
other  days  as  she  heard  the  first  long-drawn  chords 
and  high  thread-like  tones  of  the  viols  and  violins. 
The  musicians  behind  the  flowery  screen  were  get- 
ting their  instruments  in  tune,  and  the  sounds  of 
scraping  and  thrumming  caused  a  delicious  sense 
of  anticipation  to  pervade  the  place,  and  formed  a 
vague  background  of  tones  for  the  flutter  and  buzz 
and  hum  of  fans  and  soft  voices  and  laughter  and 
ceaseless  moving  of  many  feet. 

Portia  stood  near  Katherine  and  Mrs.  Judson 
Chaplain,  who  were  making  the  introductions  be- 
tween the  old  element  and  the  new.  John  was  busy 
here,  there,  and  everywhere.  Elated  with  a  trans- 
forming happiness,  he  heard  the  congratulations  of 
his  friends  and  their  praises  of  his  work,  the  good  he 
was  accomplishing,  and  the  new  life  he  had  brought 
to  the  place,  as  if  the  words  were  uttered  in  his 
dreams.  Sometimes  his  eyes  wandered  toward  the 
group  near  the  door  and  rested  on  Portia's  face. 
Was  she  ever  so  beautiful  before.^  Possibly  not. 
Since  her  talk  with  the  blind  woman  she  had  re- 

365 


366    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

signed  herself  to  the  love  which  had  set  lights  in 
her  eyes,  and  kindled  the  fire  within  her  which  was 
to  illumine  her  spirit  as  the  sun  illumines  the  day 
that  follows  such  a  dawn.  Sometimes  his  eyes 
rested  for  a  moment  on  his  mother  as  she  stood 
with  Marguerite  at  her  side,  frailer,  more  spirit- 
like than  ever.  Her  eyes  glowed  as  she  listened 
to  the  praises  of  her  son,  like  living  coals  from 
among  the  ashen  hues  of  her  whitening  hair,  and 
her  filmy,  wreathing  laces  of  white  and  black. 
Her  draperies  swept  the  floor  with  a  silken  swish, 
and  her  fine  slender  hands  held  a  heavy  feather  fan, 
that  seemed,  as  it  moved,  to  shed  an  odor  of  sandal- 
wood and  musk  about  her. 

Portia  looked  around  her  with  amazement.  Where 
had  they  all  come  from,  — •  these  guests  with  soft 
voices  and  graceful  ways,  clad  in  quaint,  old  lus- 
trous garments  with  odd  garniture  of  laces,  or  in 
simple,  dainty  muslins.? 

Though  all  were  in  excellent  taste,  she  noticed 
that  the  newest  costumes  were  of  cheap  materials, 
while  those  of  rich  and  elegant  fabric  were  of 
antique  shape  and  odd  device.  It  was  like  the 
awakening  of  the  sleeping  beauty  in  the  wood,  — 
where  all  the  lords  and  ladies  who  had  slept  with 
her  awakened  with  her  and  went  about  in  their  rare 
old  costumes,  unconscious  of  the  changes  wrought 
by  the  years,  and  mingling  with  the  courtiers  and 
retainers  of  the  prince  in  their  modern  dress,  blend- 
ing thus  the  old  and  the  new.  Where  had  they 
come  from,  all  these  spirits  of  the  old  life?  Had 
some  magician  waved  his  wand  and  called  them 
out  of  the  past  ?     Yes,  a  wave  of  sympathetic  feel- 


The  Old  Days  Revived  367 

ing  from  the  North  had  swept  in  among  them, 
and  Hope  had  come  with  beckoning  finger,  saying, 
"  Wake  all  ye  that  sleep,  for  the  dawn  of  a  new  era 
is  at  hand,"  and  the  new  South  had  arisen  to  meet 
it,  —  these  spirits  had  obeyed  the  call.  They  had 
gone  to  their  chests  and  presses  and  taken  out  their 
beautiful  garments,  so  long  unused,  and  many  a 
quaint  article  of  jewelry,  and  arrayed  in  these,  they 
had  gone  forth  to  meet  the  "  Spirit  of  the  age." 

Portia,  gazing  on  the  scene,  felt  this.  Many  of 
the  faces  around  her  seemed  beautiful  with  a  chas- 
tened kind  of  beauty,  — the  fineness  of  gold  that  has 
been  tried  by  fire,  —  and  the  lines  of  a  past  sorrow 
still  remained,  illuminated  by  the  pleasure  of  the 
moment,  into  a  subtle,  pathetic  kind  of  loveliness 
like  that  in  the  face  of  Miss  Katherine  as  she  stood 
before  her. 

Katherine  was  clad  in  a  pale  yellow  satin  bro- 
caded with  a  faint  pattern  of  hyacinths  in  pinks, 
lavenders,  and  slender  leaves  of  soft  greens.  It 
was  covered  over  the  bodice  with  rare  old  lace,  and 
frills  of  the  same  fell  over  her  hands.  Originally 
it  had  been  made  with  wide  skirt,  to  fall  over 
spreading  hoops;  but  now  the  ample  folds,  falling 
in  straight  lines  to  the  floor,  and  only  slightly 
looped  to  give  the  prevailing  panier  effect  of  the 
day,  made  the  garment  far  more  artistic  than  in 
its  original  style. 

"Isn't  it  charming.'*"  said  Marguerite  to  her 
aunt.  Mrs.  Marshall  was  at  that  moment  gazing 
intently  and  scrutinizingly  at  Chas,  who  was 
moving  up  and  down  the  great  hall  without,  in 
all  the  grandeur  of  his  faultless  attire,  performing 


368    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

duties  as  usher.  "I  don't  mean  the  barber,  aunt," 
she  said,  with  dancing  eyes.  "  Look  this  way.  I 
mean  Miss  Katherine's  dress." 

"  Ah,  yes.  We  do  not  have  such  goods  nowa- 
days. "  She  lifted  her  lorgnette  and  carefully  looked 
at  the  gown  in  question.  "And  if  I  remember 
rightly  her  mother  wore  that  gown  to  your  mother's 
wedding." 

^'  Oh,  Aunt  Isabel !  How  can  you  remember  the 
particular  stuff  of  which  a  particular  gown  was 
made  all  these  years  on  years.'*"  said  Marguerite, 
in  an  awed  voice.     "That  is  like  a  fairy  tale." 

"Why,  child,  you  are  not  so  very  old;  and  it 
was  only  a  year  after  that  I  held  you  in  my  arms, 
and  John  stood  at  my  knee,  a  little  fellow  in  long 
curls,  and  kissed  your  baby  fingers.  I  made  up 
my  mind  then  that  you  should  one  day  be  my 
daughter.  Now,  for  this  evening,  remember  your 
promise,  Marguerite.  There  he  is  now,  looking  at 
you." 

Marguerite  was  touched.  "Oh,  aunty,  aunty, 
why  did  you  .-*  Yes,  I  will  remember;  "  but  in  her 
heart  she  said,  "Oh,  if  my  mother  had  only  lived, 
if  she  had  only  lived !  " 

John  was  looking  at  her,  and  now  he  came  to  her 
side.  "  My  little  cousin  looks  prettier  than  ever 
to-night,"  he  said,  glancing  her  over  admiringly. 
There  was  a  tender  note  in  his  voice  which  pleased 
her,  coming  from  him,  giving  her  no  alarm.  "  Give 
me  your  programme.  Are  there  any  dances  left 
for  me.?  Ah,  I  am  just  in  time.  They  are  nearly 
all  taken." 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  reckless.     I  have  given  any- 


The  Old  Days  Revived  369 

body  as  many  dances  as  were  asked  for.  Put  your 
name  down  for  all  that  are  left.  I  am  tired  and 
can  more  easily  refuse  you,   you  know." 

"You  look  pale.  I  'm  thinking  you  ought  not  to 
dance  much,  brave  little  sister." 

"Did  she  tell  you  to  call  me  that.?  " 

"Who.?" 

"You  know.  She  is  always  to  call  me  sister. 
She  said  so.  Come  over  here  and  sit  down  a 
minute.  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  I  have 
promised  your  mother  I  will  be  just  as  nice  to  you 
as  possible  for  a  —  whole  week,  and  I  want  you  to 
help  me." 

"With  all  my  heart  —  little  sister.  Hello,  here 
comes  some  one  who  would  like  to  be  in  my  shoes 
for  this  week,  I  guess."  She  looked  up  and  saw 
Hanford  making  his  entering  bows  at  the  door. 

"I  don't  think  he  would,"  she  said,  looking 
away  with  a  little  laugh. 

"  Why  so  ?  " 
Oh,  because." 

An  excellent  reason,  like  most  of  your  reasons." 
Well,   if   you    must   know,   I    think   he   would 
rather  be  in  his  own." 

They  both  laughed,  and  Aunt  Isabel  was  pleased 
as  she  glanced  across  at  them,  while  she  conversed 
with  sundry  courtly  elderly  gentlemen  who  had 
gathered  about  her. 

"  Look  at  your  mother.  She  is  the  belle  of  the 
evening.  I  '11  wager  Captain  Milvey  is  asking  her 
to  dance  with  him.  Yes,  sir,  he  has  her  card. 
There  is  the  music!  Where  is  Mr.  Held,  I  won- 
der." 
24 


370    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

**He  is  coming  yonder.  Marguerite,  did — did 
she  say  anything  else  when  she  told  you  she  should 
call  you  little  sister?  What  did  she  say  to  you? 
What  have  you  told  her?  " 

"Oh,  John,  John!  Poor  Aunt  Isabel!  There  is 
no  use  in  my  being  nice  to  you  even  for  a  week. 
How  many  dances  am  I  to  have  with  you  ?  Give 
me  back  my  card;  you  have  nearly  broken  it. 
What!  not  any?  There,  take  it  back  and  put  your 
name  down  in  every  vacant  place.  I  want  it  to 
show  to  aunt  when  I  get  home.  Quick!  here  is 
Mr.   Held." 

"  You  know  very  well  I  wanted  those  dances.  I 
had  n't  had  time  to  look  over  my  own  card." 

"  Never  mind ;  put  your  name  down  to  all  that  are 
left,  and  I  will  let  you  off  the  ones  you  are  to  dance 
with  her.      Underline  hers  and  I  will  remember." 

"Then  what  will  you  do?  " 

"Me?  Oh,  I  will  bestow  them  on  some  one  who 
would  not  like  to  be  in  your  shoes." 

"Be  careful  what  you  do,  little  sister;  some 
hearts  can  be  broken." 

"Not  men's  hearts,  John.  Yes,  yes.  I  will  be 
careful  if  you  will  not  look  at  me  so.  You  are  a 
good  brother.  Here,  wear  this  for  me."  She 
slipped  a  beautiful  Jacqueminot  bud  from  the  clus- 
ter in  her  hand.  "There,"  she  said,  placing  it  in 
his  coat,  "  in  that  is  my  promise  to  be  good  for  a 
week,  perhaps  longer." 

"And  I  shall  hold  you  to  it,  little  lady." 

"Haven't  you  one  for  me  also?  "  said  Mr.  Held 
as  he  walked  away  with  her.  They  were  to  lead 
the  grand  march  together. 


The  Old  Days  Revived  371 

*'Why,  yes,  but  —  why  didn't  you  keep  one  for 
yourself?  Why  were  you  so  generous  as  to  give 
them  all  to  me?  " 

"Can't  you  guess  why?  One  bud  from  your 
hand  — thanks.  Now  it  has  a  value  no  other  flower 
could  have." 

"  My  cousin  did  not  have  to  ask  for  his." 

"Very  true;  but  its  real  value  is  that  put  upon 
it  by  the  possessor.  It  is  I  who  prize  it  the  most." 
But  he  was  wrong,  for,  months  after,  John  found 
his  bud  fragrant  still,  clinging  to  his  evening  coat, 
shrivelled  and  dried,  and  he  placed  it  among  his 
treasures  with  a  tender  thought  of  the  little  hand 
that  had  bestowed  it,  while  Mr.  Held's  had  long 
since  been  thrown  from  his  window  and  trampled 
under  foot. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  card.  "I 
am  to  have  this  first  one,  and  then  no  more  until 
the  last.  What  am  I  to  do  in  the  mean  time? 
That  is  an  adorable  one,  —  the  last ;  but  have  you 
no  more  for  me?  " 

"No,  my  card  is  full.     I  think  we  must  start." 

So  the  ball  was  fairly  opened,  and  the  merriment 
begun.  Mrs.  Marshall  remained  long  enough  to 
become  weary.  She  danced  the  minuet  in  honor 
of  John's  success,  with  the  captain,  who  vowed  she 
had  lost  none  of  her  youthful  graces;  she  had 
watched  John  and  Marguerite  circling  together 
over  the  polished  floor;  she  had  been  served  with 
refreshments  by  two  colonels,  the  courteous  old 
captain  and  a  doctor,  all  gallant  with  the  stateliness 
of  other  days ;  and  she  had  been  carefully  placed  in 
her  carriage  by  her  son,  with  the  compliment  that 


372     When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

she  was  really  the  queen  of  the  evening  if  she  was 
his  mother,  —  ere  John  had  had  his  first  dance  with 
Portia. 

*'I  thought  my  one  delight  of  the  evening  was 
never  to  come  to  me,"  he  said,  —  "our  first  dance 
together.      Think  what  it  means  to  me." 

Portia  smiled,  and  her  lips  opened  as  if  to  speak; 
but  she  said  nothing,  and  as  the  instruments  awoke 
with  a  fresh  outburst,  they  moved  off  together. 
"  You  seem  to  be  part  of  the  music,  as  if  I  should 
lose  you  when  it  stops.  If  it  would  only  go  on 
forever !  " 

"It  will  for  us,"  she  said.  "The  music  of  our 
lives  is  but  just  begun." 

"Yes,  yes.      I  have  my  promise  now." 

Portia  did  not  speak  again.  She  moved  like  a 
spirit  through  the  rest  of  the  dance,  as  if  she  did 
not  touch  the  floor  with  her  feet.  "Come,"  said 
John  at  last,  — -  "come  out  into  the  darkness;"  and 
they  went  out  on  the  long  veranda  where  other 
couples  were  pacing  up  and  down  in  the  moonlit 
spaces.  He  left  her  an  instant,  and,  returning 
wrapped  her  in  her  soft  white  shawl. 

"  I  saw  where  you  put  this  as  you  came  in, "  he  said. 

"  Do  you  remember  when  you  wrapped  me  in  it 
first,  that  evening  we  drove  home  together.?  " 

"  Could  I  forget .?  " 

"You  have  achieved  much  since  then,  John. 
This  spot  was  so  bare  and  ugly  when  you  came, 
and  now —  " 

"And  now  how  bare  and  ugly  it  would  still  seem 
to  me  if  I  had  not  had  my  way  this  morning,  —  if 
I  had  not  won  you  !  " 


The  Old  Days  Revived  373 

They  walked  to  the  far  end  of  the  veranda,  and 
stood  looking  off  over  the  wonderful  moonlit 
reaches  of  billowy  hills  into  the  mystery  beyond. 
The  music  of  the  ballroom  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  building  floated  out  to  them,  softened  by  the 
distance,  and  the  rhythmic  sound  of  dancing  feet 
and  hum  of  voices  seemed  to  blend  and  become 
part  of  it.  Soon  they  were  alone,  for  the  prome- 
naders  had  gone  either  to  dance  or  to  the  supper- 
room.  Portia,  standing  in  the  strong  moonlight 
in  her  filmy  draperies,  her  face  pale  in  the  white- 
ness streaming  upon  her,  and  revealing  its  fine 
strength  and  purity  of  outline,  seemed  to  be  not 
of  the  earth,  indeed.  John  felt  as  if  he  must 
withdraw  from  her,  nor  touch  her  lest  she  dissolve 
in  the  glorious  light,  and  slip  from  him  into  the 
mysterious  distances  on  which  her  eyes  were  fixed. 
She  seemed  so  far  above  him,  so  pure  and  fine, 
could  it  be  that  she  was  really  won  .^  Could  she 
ever  be  his.-* 

"Portia,"  he  said  at  last,  "what  are  you  think- 


ing 


?  " 


She  turned  toward  him  with  a  touch  that  warmed 
him  through  with  absolute  happiness.  "I  was 
thinking,  it  seems  as  if  we  two  were  standing  on 
the  verge  of  eternity  and  the  world  was  all  behind 
us.  Listen  to  them.  Can  there  possibly  be  two 
among  them  all  as  happy  as  we.?" 

"  No,  nor  in  all  the  world."     His  voice  was  very 

low. 

"I  feel,"  she  went  on,  "as  if  I  had  been  moving 
in  a  dream  ever  since  —  in  an  unreal  world  —  "  she 
paused. 


374    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"  Ever  since  when,  my  beautiful  ?  " 

"  Ever  since  I  came  to  you  out  there  in  Miss 
Katherine's  garden,  and  gave  up  my  pride  and  my 
scruples,  and  put  you  before  all  else  in  the  world. 
I  am  so  happy,  John." 

There  was  a  little  quiver  in  her  voice.  Ah,  it 
was  irresistible;  and  her  cheek  was  warm  and 
real,  after  all;  and  her  draperies,  they  were 
easily  crushed;  and  she  stayed  by  him,  she  did 
not  slip  away  into  the  far-off  mysterious  night ; 
and  for  him,  he  led  her  back  to  the  world  again 
like  a  prince. 

As  Mrs.  Marshall  alighted  at  the  door  of  the  old 
home,  she  paused  on  the  threshold  and  looked  out 
over  the  scene  spread  before  her,  —  the  beautiful 
valley,  with  its  undulating  lines  and  pine-capped 
hills,  — the  river  serenely  sleeping  under  soft  veil- 
ing mists,  winding  like  a  silver  thread  among 
them,  and  all  bathed  in  the  wonderful,  silent  glory 
of  light.  She  drew  in  a  long  breath  and  thought 
of  her  dearest  hopes.  The  beauty  of  the  scene 
stealing  in  upon  her  senses  stirred  her  heart  to  its 
tenderest  mood ;  but  to  her,  whose  will  was  her 
law,  to  love  meant  to  absorb  to  herself  and  hold  in 
closer  grasp;  hence  the  subtle  charm  of  the  night 
but  served  to  deepen  the  intensity  of  her  desires 
and  make  her  dearest  hopes  seem  doubly  dear. 

"You  may  wait  a  moment,  Alexander,"  she  said. 
"Clare  will  go  back  with  you." 

"  Non,  non.  It  is  that  I  must  not  leave  madam 
alone,"  exclaimed  Clare,  struggling  between  her 
secret  desire  to  return  and  her  duty  to  her  mistress. 
"Madam  is  very  weary;  I  see  it," 


The  Old  Days  Revived  375 

"Yes,  and  I  will  be  asleep  soon  and  will  not 
want  to'  be  disturbed.  You  must  return  with  the 
carriage  and  see  that  Marguerite  comes  home  early. 
She  was  ill  yesterday,  you  know." 

"  Oui,  madam,  mais  —  " 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  start  ?  " 

"  Mais,  allow  me  that  I  assist  first  madam  to  her 
bed;  then  is  there  yet  time." 

"  I  prefer  to  be  alone.  You  must  go  back  and 
look  after  her;  that  is  what  I  am  sending  you 
now  for.  Tell  Marguerite  that  it  is  my  wish  that 
she  leave  early.  Mr.  Marshall  will  return  with 
her,  of  course;  she  is  in  his  charge,  but  they  will 
neither  of  them  think  of  leaving  until  it  is  long 
past  time  she  was  here,  and  in  bed." 

"Certainement,"  said  Clare,  with  a  slight  shrug. 
"  They  are  young,  those  children. ' '  Still  she  hesi- 
tated. 

"Well.?"  said  her  mistress,  impatiently. 

"  Mais  —  allow  me  that  I  see  madam  to  her  room 

seulement." 

"What  ails  you  to-night,  Clare?     I  am  capable 

of  going  to  my  room  alone,  am  I  not  ?  " 

"  Oui,  madam,  mais  votre  fils.  What  is  it  that 
he  will  think  that  I  leave  madam  here  alone  ? " 

Mrs.  Marshall  laughed.  "Oh,  go^ along.  You 
know  you  want  to  go  back  yourself." 

So  Clare  was  driven  away  as  her  mistress  entered 
the  house  and  laid  her  hand  on  the  old  stairway 
railing.  The  little  Juliet  was  soundly  sleeping 
in  her  mother's  room,  and  Mrs.  Van  Ostade  had 
retired.  Mr.  Ridgeway  had  gone  down  out  of  the 
kindness  of  his  heart  to  look  in  on  the  festivities, 


376    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

congratulate  John  and  Judson  Chaplain,  pay  his 
respects  to  the  older  element  there,  and  see  his 
granddaughter  home.  One  servant  had  been  left  to 
stand  guard,  who  was  quietly  dozing  in  the  kitchen. 
The  house  was  all  lighted  up,  but  seemed  empty 
and  silent.  Mrs.  Marshall  paused  and  looked  about 
her  at  the  empty  rooms  and  shadowy  spaces.  Win- 
dows had  been  left  open,  and  the  cool  night  air 
filled  the  house  with  a  sweet  freshness,  in  spite  of 
the  lighted  lamps.  The  white  curtains  blew  out 
over  the  smooth  drawing-room  floor,  and  the  moon 
rays  streamed  in,  making  long  panels  of  light. 
She  climbed  the  stairs  slowly,  and  paused  again. 

"Why  did  I  ever  sell  it.?"  she  said  to  herself. 
"I  used  to  think  I  hated  the  place;  but  now  I 
believe  I  would  rather  live  here  than  anywhere 
else,  after  all."  Then  she  went  softly  on,  as  was 
her  wont.  By  the  time  she  reached  the  top  she 
had  determined  to  buy  it  back  again.  "I  will  do 
it,  if  only  to  turn  out  this  horde  of  plunderers,"  she 
said. 

In  her  sitting-room  a  lamp  was  burning,  and 
on  the  table  lay  a  new  novel  with  an  antique 
Roman  paper-knife  shut  in  between  the  leaves. 
She  sat  down  in  the  large  chair  beside  the  table, 
threw  back  the  black  lace  wrap  from  her  head  and 
shoulders,  and,  taking  the  book,  turned  the  leaves. 
The  light  fell  strongly  on  her  gray  hair  and  wan 
face,  with  its  subtle,  clean-cut  lines.  Presently 
she  laid  the  book  down,  folded  her  hands  over  her 
great  black  feather  fan,  and  sat  quietly  thinking, 
looking  into  the  past,  with  her  brilliant  dark  eyes 
open  to  visions  of  other  days. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 
A    MIDNIGHT   VISIT 

OVER  the  hill,  in  the  moonlight,  a  figure 
came  hobbling  toward  the  old  homestead, 
—  a  woman  in  a  faded  cotton  gown  that  looked 
white  in  the  white  light,  and  a  white  cloth  wound 
about  her  head  for  a  turban.  She  leaned  heavily 
on  her  stick,  and  hurried  on  eagerly  and  painfully. 
It  was  old  Mammy  Clarissa,  mumbling  to  herself  a 
half-pleading  sort  of  prayer  as  she  walked.  She 
turned  in  at  the  arched  gateway,  and  walked  up 
the  winding  drive,  her  shadow  falling  sharply  out- 
lined on  the  hard  gravelled  road. 

"Gabr'ella  say  as  haow  dey  all  gone  'way.  I 
'low  she  '11  be  heah.  She  tu  ol'  tu  be  gwine  tu  de 
dancin'  dese  days,  I  reckon.  Oh,  Lawd,  kyan'  I 
git  tu  tell  'er,  an'  git  tu  pass.?  Lawd,  he'p  my 
soul !  " 

Laboriously  she  climbed  the  steps,  and  slipping 
off  her  heavy  shoes  walked  softly  in  her  stocking 
feet.  She  entered  the  old  dwelling,  and  stood 
where  she  had  not  before  since  her  old  mistress 
had  left  it,  after  the  general  had  been  brought 
home  from  the  field  of  battle,  dead.  There,  in  the 
great  room,  he  had  lain  in  state,  his  sword  at  his 
side,  his  boy  far  away,  and  none  to  mourn  but  his 
widowed  wife  and  her  who  had  nursed  his  child. 
Which  grief  was  deeper, — who  shall  say.-* 

377 


378    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

She  climbed  the  stairs  more  softly  than  her  mis- 
tress had  done  a  few  moments  before,  carrying  her 
stick  under  her  arm  and  clinging  to  the  railing  for 
support. 

"I  reckon  she  '11  be  in  her  ol'  room,"  she  mut- 
tered. The  door  of  Mrs.  Marshall's  apartment  stood 
ajar.  She  pushed  it  open  and  entered.  Peering 
into  the  sitting-room  beyond,  she  saw  her  old  mis- 
tress seated  in  the  halo  of  light,  absorbed  in  her 
reverie.  Frail  and  wan,  yet  not  so  greatly  changed 
she  seemed,  since  Mammy  Clarissa  had  seen  her 
last,  only  her  hair  was  black  then,  a  heavy  silken 
mass  falling  over  her  temples.  She  had  always 
been  thin,  and  was  always  shrouded  in  laces,  as 
now;  only  now  her  eyes  seemed  larger  and  darker, 
and  her  hair  was  gray.  Suddenly  she  leaned  for- 
ward, peering  into  the  dimness  of  her  chamber. 
Seeing  the  figure  of  the  old  woman  standing  there, 
she  raised  both  hands  with  a  quick  gesture  as  if  she 
would  repel  some  phantom  which  she  had  conjured 
in  her  waking  dream. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  Go  away  !  "  she  said  in  a  sharp, 
frightened  tone. 

"Now  don' yo'  go  fo'  tu  'sturb  yo'se'f.  Hit's 
on'y  ol'  Cl'issy  come  foh  tu  hab  speech  wid  yo'." 

"  Clarissa,  are  you  dead  ?  Why  do  you  stand  so 
white  and  still.?  Are  you  alive?"  She  tried  to 
rise,  and  would  have  screamed,  but  could  not.  The 
old  woman  took  a  step  nearer,  and  leaning  on  her 
stick  stood  looking  down  on  her.  She  grasped  the 
arms  of  her  chair  with  both  hands,  and  leaning 
forward  gazed  into  the  face  of  her  old  slave  with 
glittering   eyes,    like   a   lioness    brought    to   bay. 


A  Midnight  Visit  379 

"How  dare  you  come  here  in  this  way?  You  —  " 
Her  fan  slid  to  the  floor,  and  Clarissa,  stooping 
painfully,  picked  it  up  and  laid  it  again  on  her 
knees;  but  she  shook  it  from  her  without  touching 
it,  and  again  it  fell  to  the  floor,  sliding  down 
among  the  silken  folds  of  her  dress.  Mammy 
Clarissa  raised  one  hand  deprecatingly. 

*' Now  don'  yo'  go  foh  tu  'sturb  yo'se'f,  Miz 
Ts'bel.  I  's  'live  right  smaht.  I  done  come  foh 
tu  hab  speech  wid  yo'  'lone  by  yo'  own  se'f.  I 
ain'  no  ghos'es,  I  ain',  an'  I  'low  yo'  ain'  neider, 
yo'   looks  dat  like  yo'   uset  tu." 

Mrs.  Marshall  relaxed  her  hold  of  her  chair. 
"Well!"  she  said,  "you  should  have  had  more 
sense  than  to  come  creeping  in  so,  scaring  me  out 
of  my  wits.      What  do  you  want  to  say.?  " 

Clarissa  looked  deliberately  about  her.  "I  reck- 
oned I  'd  fin'  yo'  heah,  in  de  ol'  room.  Dey  wan' 
no  one  roun',  an'  I  jes'  walked  on  up  heah,  like  I 
uset  tu."  Then  she  said  no  more,  but  stood  gaz- 
ing gravely  and  steadily  in  the  face  of  her  former 
mistress. 

"Don't  stand  staring  so;  sit  down,  and  tell  me 
how  you  are,  and  what  you  have  come  to  say." 

"  Naw  'm,  I  kin  stan',  I  reckon.  I  's  right  smaht, 
thank  ye,  ma'm,  'cept'n'  de  rheum.atiz  in  de  bones, 
yas  'm.  Wal,  Miz  Is'bel,  I  come  heah  fo'  call  tu 
yo'  'membrance  de  days  'long  back  in  de  fore 
time."  She  paused  and  wiped  her  dry  lips  with  a 
handkerchief  which  she  took,  neatly  folded,  from 
her  bosom.  "Yas  'm,  fu'st  come  de  days  when  we 
war  gals.  Yo'  'membah  dat  time  yo'  paw  sol'  me 
tu  mars'r  gen'l's  gran'paw,   an'  took  he's  fambly 


380    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

an'  my  maw  off  tu  de  saouf  islan's  wha'  he  come 
f'om?  — ^  Mexico  or  New  Awleans,  some'ers  daoim 
dat-a-way?  I  mind  how  I  cried  an'  took  on  fo'  my 
maw.  I  mind  how  yo'  push  me  off' n  her,  'nd  say, 
*G' 'long  yo'  niggah,  dis-yer's  my  mammy,'  'nd 
climb  on  her  knee,  'nd  mars'  stan'nin'  by  an' 
laughin'.  I  mind  how  she  sail  off  in  de  boat  'long 
o'  yo'  'n'  yo'  paw  'nd  maw,  a-leanin'  ova'  dat  side 
rail'n'  an'  callin'  fo'  me,  an'  yo'  a-pullin'  on  her 
dress;  I  mind  dat.  Dat  ar'  de  las'  time  I  eva'  see 
my  maw. 

"Dat  fambly  yo'  paw  done  sol'  me  tu,  dat  war 
de  ol'  Ma'shall  fambly.  Ol'  Miz  Ma'shall  fotch 
me  up  right  smaht  tu  du  de  fine  stitch'n',  'nd  cl'ar 
sta'tchin',  'nd  i'nin',  an'  ova'seein'  de  linen,  an' 
lookin'  aftah  de  young  ones  an'  I'arnin'  'em  tu 
wo'k.  I  nuvva  woah  nuf^in'  but  silk  turb'n  dem 
days,  yas 'm,  'nd  white  dress  I  al'us  woah  tu. " 
She  paused  again,  leaning  heavily  on  her  stick, 
and,  wiping  her  dry  lips  as  before,  gazed  straight 
before  her  in  silence. 

Mrs.  Marshall  stooped  and  picked  up  the  fan. 
"Well,  go  on,"  she  said,  waving  it  slowly.  "You 
have  something  on  your  mind  you  wish  to  relieve 
yourself  of,  I  see,  so  I  '11  humor  you  through;  but 
I  am  growing  tired."  She  leaned  back,  and  slowly 
closed  and  opened  her  eyes. 

"Yas  'm,  I  war  thinkin'  on  dem  days."  Clarissa 
lifted  her  head  and  looked  intently  at  her  old  mis- 
tress with  a  gleam  in  her  eyes.  "T  mind  de  time 
young  Mars'r  John  come  dar  tu;  I  mind  dat." 
Mrs.  Marshall  shifted  her  position.  "Dey  wan'  no 
young  man  nowhar  look  like  he  look,  so  tall  an' 


A  Midnight  Visit  381 

straight  an'  han'some,  in  he's  so'ger  clo'es  w'en 
he  come  down  tu  visit  he's  gran'paw.  W'en  he  git 
mad  hit  war  like  de  sto'm-claoud  rise  out'n  de  sea, 
an'  w'en  he  smile,  yas  'm,  hit  war  like  de  sun  rise 
up  in  de  mawnin'.  I  mind  he  had  twin  bruddertu. 
He  did  n'  go  fo'  tu  be  no  so'ger.  He  wen'  up  tu 
de  No'f  schule  some'ers,  'nd  he  fall  in  lub  an' 
mahy  Yankee  gal  up  yandah.  I  reckon  dey  war 
mad.  I  heah'd  'em  say  he  lub  de  Yanks  dat  bad  he 
mount  stay  right  dar  an'  bed  an'  bo'd  wid  'em, 
an'  I  nuvva  see  him  no  mo'."  She  paused  a  mo- 
ment and  then  continued  :  — 

"  I  mind  de  time  young  Mars'r  John's  fadah  he 
took  sick  'nd  die,  'nd  one  y'ar  mo'  'nd  he's  gran'- 
fatha  he  die  tu,  'nd  jes'  one  week  f'om  dat  time 
ol'  gran'-miz,  she  die  tu,  like  she  could  n'  lib 
wid'out  her  ol'  man,  —  'nd  dar  we-all  wuz  sol'. 
Young  Mars'r  John,  he  in  de  Wes'  Point  schule, 
he  did  n'  know  nufifin'  'bouts  we  bein'  sol'.  One 
o'  dese  yer  trader  men  come  'long  'n'  he  tuck  me. 
I  war  mighty  skeered  o'  him.  He  nuvva  hu't  me, 
naw 'm^  but  all  de  same  I  could  n'  bide  tu  see  'im 
nigh  me  noh  tu  tech  me. 

"He  tuk  we-all  tu  mighty  gran'  big  place,  an' 
dar  he  come  'long  one  day,  an'  he  say,  *  Cl'issy,  yo* 
right  peart  gal.  What-all  fo'  clo'es  yo'  got  in  dat 
bun'l'  ?  '  An'  dar  he  tuk  up  fine  silk  headkercher 
ol'  missus  done  gib  me,  an'  de  gol'  beads  young 
Mars'r  John  done  gib  me  an'  a  white  dress,  an' 
gol'  pin — young  Mars'r  John  gib  me  dat  tu, — 
an'  he  say,  '  War  dese.  I  wan*  yo'  look  fine  an' 
peart.'  An'  I  say  '  Yas  'r.'  'N'  he  say,  '  Put  'em 
on.'    An'  I  say,  '  Yas  'r.'     An'  he  holla,  '  Put  'em 


382    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

on.'  An'  I  say,  '  Yas  'r.'  'N'  he  holla  g'in/  Put 
'em  on.'  'N'  I  say,  *  Yas  'r  '  'g'in,  'nd  nuvva  stir. 
Den  he  holla  'g'in,  'nd  I  say,  Yo'  take  yo'se'f 
whar  yo'  b'long,  'n'  I'll  put  'em  on.'  Den  he 
lif  he's  han'  like  he  gwine  hit  ha'd,  den  he  laff, 
'n'  say,  '  Yo'  done  got  de  debble  in  yo'.'  'Nd  I 
say,   '  Yas 'r,    'n'  yo'  done  put  'im  dar  tu.' 

"Den  I  put  on  de  clo'es,  an'  all  de  odah  niggahs 
stan'in'  roun'  in  de  drove, — men,  women,  an' 
chillun.  But  I  put  'em  on,  fo'  I  knowed  I  'd  be 
killed  ef  I  did  n'.  Den  he  tuk  me  out  tu  de 
block,  an'  he  say,  'Git  up  dar,'  he  say.  An'  I 
git  up  an'  look  roun',  an'  dar  I  see  all  de  man 
faces  lookin'  up  at  me  all  ova  de  squ'ar,  an'  all 
ova  de  sidewalkses,  an'  dar  dey  point  wid  de 
cane.  Den  one  say,  *  She  got  a  heap  o'  temper,  I 
reckon.'  An'  trader  man,  he  say,  'She  mil'  as 
lamb. '  Den  nurrer  man  say,  '  She  got  de  bery 
debble  in  'er  eye.'  An'  he  say,  'She  hab  de 
spi't  ob  a  angel,  an'  she  kin  sing  yo's  tu  sleep 
like  she  bohned  a  mocker.'  Den  dey  all  laff,  an' 
I  feel  like  I  gwine  fall  down  off'n  dat  place. 
Den,  all  'er  a  suddent,  I  see  young  Mars'r  John 
yandah  in  de  crowd,  in  he's  so'ger  clo'es,  wid  he's 
shinin'  face,  like  he  jes'  come  down  f'om  heaben, 
—  an'  I  hoi'  out  my  ahms  an'  try  fo'  tu  call  'im; 
but  I  could  n'  make  no  soun'.  Naw  'm.  But  I 
see  'im  push  he's  way  t' rough  all  dem  rats  dar, 
nigh  head  taller  'n  all  on  'em,  yas  'm,  an'  I  see  'im 
hoi'  up  he's  han',  an'  I  see  all  de  faces  swimmin' 
roun',  an'  de  block  slip  out  f'om  under  my  feet 
like,  an'  I  did  n'  see  no  mo'  ontwell  I  heah'n  'im 
sayin',    'Wake  up,    Cl'issy.      Dey  ain'  gwine  sell 


A  Midnight  Visit  383 

yo'  no  mo'.  I  done  pay  de  money  fo'  yo',  an'  I 
gwine  tek  yo'  home  wid  me.  Jes'  yo'  folia  me.' 
I  'd  a  folla'd  'im  ef  he  'd  'a'  axed  me  tu  walk 
intu  de  fiah.  I'd  folla'd  'im  ontwell  I  could  n' 
walk  no  mo'  an'  jes'  fall  down  dead  at  he's  feet 
'fo'  'im,  yas 'm.  Dat  ar  hu-cum  de  Mars'r  Gen'l 
buy  me  an'  tuk  me  home.  Ol'  miz,  she  rose  me 
mighty  kin'  an'  sof  like.  I  nuvva  did  n'  look  tu 
be  sol'  like  common  niggah  trash  off'n  de  block, 
naw'm. "  She  paused  again,  and  wiped  her  brow 
and  her  lips.  Mrs.  Marshall  leaned  back  in  her 
chair  and  closed  her  eyes.  "Go  on,"  she  said. 
"I  hear  you." 

"Yas'm,  wal 'm,  hit  war  dat-a-way  he  tuk  me 
home,  an'  I  tuk  keer  on  he's  maw.  She  war  sof 
an'  gentle  like  she  wait'n'  fo'  de  angels  tu  come 
an'  fotch  her  tu  heaben.  Likely  dat  all  she  wait'n' 
fo'.  She  lie  dar  one  day  an'  jes'  pass  like  a  breff 
come  an'  blow  her  soul  'way,  an'  dar  dey  wan'  no 
one  lef  but  jes'  young  Mars'r  Gen'l  an'  me,  an' 
a  lot  o'  young  trash  niggahs  wha'  I  look  aftah  an' 
I'arn  fo'  tu  keep  de  haouse  fo'  'im.  Young  Mars'r 
Gen'l,  he  grieve  he's  se'f,  I  mind  dat.  Long 
while  he  grieve.  He  go  heah,  an'  he  go  dar,  an' 
ev'y  time  he  come  home  'g'in  he  say,  '  Cl'issy, 
dis-yer  's  de  bes'  place,  aftah  all.'  Aftah  while  he 
brung  home  de  ol'  haouse  full  o'  he's  frien's.  He 
jes'  say,  'Cl'issy,  git  de  rooms  ready;'  an'  I  du 
hit,  an'  cook  de  chick'n  pie,  an'  de  hot  biscuit, 
an'  dar  de  happy  days  begin.  Nigh  on  tu  five  y'ar 
he  go  on  dat-a-way;  I  war  right  happy  den,  yas  'm, 
right  happy.  One  day  come  'long  big  crowd  f'om 
Wash'n'ton.      I  mind  yo'  'long  dat  time.      I  don' 


384    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

know  whar  he  met  up  wid  yo',  but  dar  yo'  come 
wid  yo'  maids  an'  yoah  gran'  clo'es  shinin'  wid 
de  silk  an'  gol',  an'  yo'  walk  de  haouse  like  yo' 
done  bohned  dar, — yas 'm, — de  same  liT  Miz 
Is'bel  wha'  done  push  me  off' n  my  own  maw.  I 
knowed  yo'  'd  done  come  fo'  tek  young  Mars' r 
Genl  f'om  me  tu.  Now  jes'  yo'  bide  still  dar. 
I  ain'  come  fo'  no  hu't.  I  come  heah  fo'  tu  bring: 
yo'  min'  back  tu  de  'membrance  o'  de  pas',  an'  yo' 
gwine  set  still  dar  an'  hark. 

"Wen  dat  crowd  go  Mars'r  John,  he  mighty 
res' less.  One  day  he  walk  de  flo'  up  an'  down, 
up  an'  down,  den  he  come  out  on  de  po'ch  whar  I 
set  sewin'  an'  harkin'  tu  'im  pace  de  room,  an'  he 
say,  '  Cl'issy,  yo'  alius  been  mighty  good;  yo'  been 
good  tu  my  maw.'  An'  I  say,  '  Yas,  Mars'r  John.' 
Den  he  say,  'Hit  's  time  I  marr'd  'nd  raise  up  my 
fadah's  haouse.  I  gwine  bring  home  heah  a  mistus, 
Cl'issy.'  An'  I  say,  *  Yas,  yas,  Mars'r  John.'  Den 
he  say,  *  Yo'  gwine  be  good  tu  her,  Cl'issy.''  '  An' 
I  say,  '  Yas,  Mars'r  John,  I  gwine  du  all  yo'  ax 
me.     Ef  yo'  ax  me  walk  intu  de  fiah,  I  du  hit. ' 

"Den  he  come  nigh  me,  an'  put  he's  han'  under 
my  chin,  an'  lif  up  my  haid,  an'  say,  '  Cl'issy,  I 
b'lieve  yo'.'  An'  he  kiss  my  fo'haid  an'  go  off. 
Den  I  go  tu  my  own  room,  an'  dar  I  lie  on  de  flo', 
an'  ax  de  Lawd  tek  de  h'a't  out  'n  me  an'  leab  me 
die  an'  go  tu  ol'  mist'is;  but  he  didn'  du  hit, 
naw 'm,  he  done  leab  me  heah  yit.  Wen  Mars'r 
John  come  back  he  fotch  yo'  wid  'im,  an'  dar  come 
'long  lot  o'  yo'  own  folkses  tu  —  gran'  an'  fine,  an' 
sof'-speakin'  like  yo'  own  se'f.  I  could  n'  un'er- 
stan'  how  dey  speak,  neider.      Hit  mighty  strange 


A  Midnight  Visit  385 

talk  dey  done  use.  I  reckon  yo'  'membahs  dat 
time  tu,  Miz  Is'bel, — yas,  I  reckon  so.  Yo' 
mighty  fine  fo'  a  while,  den  yo'  tek  de  bit  in  yo' 
teef,  'an  dar  yo'  go.  Yo'  mind  de  days  Mars'r 
Gen'l  go  tu  Wash'n'ton  ?  Yo'  mind  how  yo'  run 
de  place,  Miz  Is'bel.'*  Yas,  I  reckon  so.  Look 
a-heah,  —  don'  yo'  go  fo'  tu  git  'sited.  I  jes' 
gwine  tell  yo'   de  troof,   den  I  gwine  quit." 

Mammy  Clarissa  stopped  leaning  on  her  stick, 
and  raised  herself  to  her  full  height.  Her  eyes 
glowed  like  two  coals  of  fire.  She  ceased  speak- 
ing in  a  dreamy  tone  of  reflection  and  reminis- 
cence. "Look  a-heah,"  she  said  in  louder  tone, 
"yo'  mind  de  time  yo'  beat  me  an'  sta've  me? 
Yo'  mind  de  time  yo'  git  ol'  Pete  tu  lay  on  de 
lash  tu  me.-*  Yo'  mind  dat.'*  An'  why  fo'  yo' 
done  hit.-*  Look  a-heah."  She  crossed  the  room 
and  opened  a  door  that  led  into  a  small  brushing- 
room  or  closet,  and,  stooping  over,  looked  closely 
at  the  bare  boards,  where  a  dark  brown  stain 
showed. 

"Yas  'm,  hit  dar  as  of  ol'  time.  Dar  de  blood- 
stain yit.  Yo'  'membah  dat  time  yo'  tu'n  on 
me  an'  cut  me  wid  Mars'r  John's  hunt'n'  knife.? 
Heah  's  de  skyah  'crost  my  ahm  yit,  an'  at  de  jedg- 
men'  day  dat  skyah  gwine  shine  in  yo'  eyes.  I 
mind  de  time  yo'  cut  dat  skyah  an'  push  me  in 
dar,  an'  lock  de  do'.  I  min'  lyin'  dar  wid  de 
blood  flowin'  an'  hyar'n'  yo'  walkin'  roun'  in 
de  room,  singin'  sof  an'  low  like  nuffin'  did  n' 
trouble  yo'  none;  an'  dar  yo'  lef  me  all  night,  'n' 
no  watah  tu  drink,  'n'  nuffin'  tu  eat,  'n'  no  one  tu 
he'p.  Dar  de  blood-stain  yit.  Hit  ain'  nuvva 
25 


386    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

come  off,   an'   hit  nuvva  will  come  off,    'dout  fiah 
bu'n  hit. 

"Set  yo'se'f  still  dar  ontwell  yo'  heah  de  res'. 
Nex'  day  yo'  done  de  same,  — yo'  heah  me  groan 
an'  call  fo'  one  drap  o'  watah.  Yo'  nuvva  onlock 
de  do',  an'  de  nex'  day  yo'  go  'way  wid  de  key  in 
yo'  pocket,  an'  I  try  fo'  call,  but  didn'  hab  no 
strenk.  I  'low  yo'  didn'  reckon  Mars'r  John 
com'n'  home  dat  day,  but  he  come;  yas 'm,  he 
come  an'  call  yo',  an'  Cah'line  she  tell  'im  Miz 
Is'bel  done  gone  ovah  tu  Miz  Col'n'l  Wells  fo' 
de  day.  An'  he  come  in  heah  an'  sit  down,  an' 
I  mek  out  fo'  tu  speak  he's  name,  an'  he  try  de 
do'.  Den  he  call,  '  Cah'line,  hu-come  dis  do' 
lock?  Wha  's  de  key.^  '  An'  she  say,  *  I  do'  know, 
Mars'r  Gen'l. '  Den  Mars'r  John  he  know  dar 
somp'n'  bad  duin',  an'  he  bre'k  de  doah,  an'  tek 
me  up  in  he's  ahms,  an'  tote  me  tu  my  own  baid, 
an'  lay  me  dar,  an'  brung  watah,  an'  keer  fo'  me 
de  whole  day,  ontwell  night  come,  an'  he  say  ovah 
an'  ovah,  '  Cl'issy,  she  shall  pay  fo'  dis.'  Yas 
'm,   dat  what  he  say.      I  kin  'membah  dat. 

"  Naw  yo'  doan  move,  noh  speak  neider.  Yo' 
set  yo'se'f  dar  an'  hark.  Cah'line,  ol'  Alexan- 
dah's  wife,  she  kin  'membah  dat  tu,  an'  mo',  I 
reckon.  I  do'  know  what-all  Mars'r  done  say  tu 
yo',  but  yo'  nuvva  tech  me  'g'in.  Naw  'm.  I 
mind  dem  days;  how  I  done  de  fine  stitch'n'  fo' 
yo',  wha'  ol'  Miz  Marshall  I'arn  me  tu  du.  All 
de  long,  sof  fine  clo'es  fo'  yo'  baby,  I  done  de 
stitch'n'  on  dem.  Yas 'm,  an'  I  mind  how,"  — 
Mammy  Clarissa  dropped  her  voice  to  a  lower  tone, 
—  "  w'en  de  day  war  done,  an'  yo'  could  n'  task  me 


A  Midnight  Visit  387 

no  mo',  while  yo'  lay  sleepin'  'long  side  Mars'r 
John,  I  uset  tu  sit  by  de  can'l'  light  an'  sew  de 
co'se  white  cloff  ontwell  de  daylight  streak  de  sky 
in  de  mawnin'.  Yas  'm,  de  time  pass  slow,  wid 
de  days  a-servin'  an'  de  nights  a-cryin',  ontwell 
yo'  'low  I  gwine  spile  my  eyes  fo'  de  fine  stitch'n', 
an'  yo'  gwine  sell  me  off  Saouf  C'liny  way. 

"  I  mind  de  night  tu,  yas  'm,  I  mind  hit,  w'en  my 
baby  come.  Ol'  Aunt  Betsy,  f'om  Cun'l  Wellses, 
she  war  by  me,  troo  de  bitterness,  and  de  dark- 
ness, and  de  heavy-heartness,  an'  fo'  daylight  she 
done  lef  me  dar  wid  my  own  li'l'  chile  in  my 
ahms,  an'  I  lie  in  de  dark  time,  an'  pray  de  Lawd 
tek  'im  out'n  de  worl'  an'  tek  me  wid  'im;  but 
he  did  n'  nuvva  hearn  me;  naw'm,  he  lef  me  dar, 
an'  de  chile  tu.  W'en  de  mawnin'  come,  I  lif 
up  de  kiver,  an'  look  at  my  chile,  lyin'  dar  in  my 
ahms,  an'  I  see  a  angel  f'om  heaben.  I  see  why 
de  Lawd  would  n'  tek  'im  long  back  'g'in,  'case 
he  jes'  been  dar,  wid  he's  sof  skin,  an'  fa'r  ha'r  y^  ^ 
like  de  sun  done  tech  hit,  an'  w'en  he  open  he's 
gre't  eyes,  dar  dey  shine  wid  de  blue  in  'em, 
yas'm,  an'  I  cry  out  in  my  h'a't,  an'  kiver  'im  up 
an'  hoi'  'im  clost.  O  Lawd,  O  Lawd!  I  mind 
dat  time.      I  reckon  yo'  don'  'membah  dat,  naw  'm. 

"I  mind  I  lie  dar,  an'  shet  my  eyes  'g'in,  an' 
'long  'bouts  sun-up  de  do'  open  mighty  ha'd  an' 
suddent  like,  an'  dar  come  ol'  Mars'r  Doctor,  wid 
de  bun'l'  in  he's  ahms,  an'  he  lay  hit  'long  side 
me,  an'  he  say,  '  Cl'issy,  heah  's  yo'  missus'  baby. 
Yo'  tek  right  smaht  keer  on  hit  now.'  An'  he 
stomp  off  'g'in,  an'  shet  de  do'  ha'd,  an'  I  hyearn 
'im  stompin'  down  de  hall.      Den  I  lif  myse'f  up 


388    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

an'  open  de  bun'l',  an'  dar,  jes'  wrop  in  a  cloff 
like,  an'  roll  in  de  blanket,  lie  yo'  baby.  Yas  'm, 
yo'  baby,  sho  'nuff,  wid  de  dark  skin  an'  de  black, 
sof  ha'r  like  all  yo'  folkses  wha'  come  up  heah 
f'om  de  Saouf  Islands,  an'  like  yo'se'f  tu,  wid  de 
big  dark  eyes,  like  de  black  coals  out'n  de  fiah, 
look'n'  up  at  me,  an'  I  kiver  hit  up  'g'in,  an'  hoi' 
my  chile  clost,  an'  cry  out  in  my  h'a't  'g'in,  '  O 
Lawd,  set  my  chile  free.  Tek  'im  back,  Lawd. 
Don'  leab  'im  heah,  'case  I  knowed  yo'  chile  done 
come  tu  rob  my  chile  like  yo'  rob  me.' 

"  Naw  'm,  set  yo'se'f  still.  I  has  mo'  tu  tell. 
By  'm  by  Cah'line  come  in,  an'  I  lie  dar  wid  my 
eyes  shet,  an'  she  onkiver  yo'  baby,  an'  she  say, 
'  Cl'issy,  dis  yo'  chile.? '  an'  I  lie  still.  Den  she 
step  roun'  mighty  sof  an'  mek  fiah,  an'  wahm  de 
watah,  an'  by  'm  by  she  onkiver  bof  de  chillen, 
an'  I  lie  dar  wid  my  eyes  shet,  an'  a  mighty  so' 
hea't,  an'  she  stan'  dar  lookin'  at  de  chillen  sleep- 
in'  so  sof  'n'  still.  Den  she  reach  ovah  an'  tek 
my  chile  out'n  my  ahms,  an'  tek  hit  'way  by  de 
fiah,  an'  I  did  n'  open  my  eyes  noh  say  nuffin'.  I 
jes'  lay  dar  wid  de  heavy-heartness  ontwell  I  done 
drap  off  tu  sleep  sho  'nuff.  A'teraw'ile  I  done 
heah  a  baby  cryin',  an'  I  open  my  eyes  an'  dar 
Stan'  Cah'line  side  de  baid  wid  bun'l'  wrop  up  in 
de  co'se  cloff,  an'  she  say,  '  Cl'issy,  heah,  yo'  tek 
yo'  own  chile;  he  nigh  stahvin',  I  reckon.  Missus* 
baby  don'  need  nuf  n'.  He  sleep'n'  heah  all  right ; ' 
an'  she  lay  de  bun'l'  in  my  ahms,  an'  I  tu'n  back 
de  cloff  offn  de  haid,  an'  dar  I  see  yo'  chile; 
yas'm,  yo'  chile  dress'  in  de  co'se  cloff  wha'  I  done 
sew  fo'  my  own,   in  de  night  times  w'en  yo'  war 


A  Midnight  Visit  389 

sleep'n'.  Wid  de  tears  a-fallin'  an'  de  hea't 
a-grieve'n',  I  done  sew  dose  clo'es,  an'  dar  I  see 
'em  on  yo'  chile.  Yas  'm,  set  yo'se'f  still  dai  an' 
hark.  I  done  tek  yo'  chile  in  my  ahms  an'  heish 
'im  tu  sleep,  an'  Cah'line,  she  step  roun'  sof  an' 
men'  de  fiah,  an'  bresh  de  hyarth,  an'  go  off.  Den 
I  rose  up  an'  look  at  my  own  li'l'  baby,  an'  dar  he 
lie  in  de  sof,  white  clo'es,  wid  de  lace,  an'  de  fine 
wo'k  wid  de  needle  wha'  I  done  sew,  an'  I  say,  '  De 
Lawd  done  do  de  choosin'.  I  done  sew  de  clo'es, 
bof  de  co'se  an'  de  fine,  an'  de  Lawd  done  guide 
de  han'  wha'  put  'em  on  de  chillen.  Ef  hit  ain' 
nuffin'  but  de  clo'es  wha'  gib  de  chile  a  place  in 
dis  worl',  ef  dey  don'  know  no  dif'unce,  'cept'n'  dat 
ar,  den  de  Lawd's  name  be  praise.  Ef  one  o'  dese 
chillen    gwine   be  mars',  an'  one  gwine  be  slave,  / 

an'  one  fadah  de  fadah  ob  bof,  den  de  Lawd's  name       v 
be  praise,  dey  kin  du  dey  own  choos'n'.     By  'm  by 
Cah'line  come  back  an'  brung  me  victuals,  an'  she 
Stan'  dar,  lookin'  at  my  boy,  an'  she  says,  *  'Pears  ^    ^^ 
like  he  don'   look  like  her   none,    but  he  mighty  \ 
puty. '     An'  I  say,  '  Sholy  he  are.'     An'  she  say, 
*  Missus  done  ax  fo'    'im, '   an'   she  cahy  'im  out." 
Old  Clarissa  paused,  and  once  again  wiped  her  face 
and  lips  with  the  handkerchief. 

The  old  woman  before  her,  writhing  with  pas- 
sion, had  repeatedly  struggled  to  rise  from  her 
chair,  but  seemed  unable  to  do  so.  Now  she  stood 
up,  and  reaching  toward  her  old  slave  with  her 
long  thin  fingers,  made  as  if  she  would  clutch 
her  by  the  throat. 

"  You  devil !  "  she  said  between  her  closed  teeth, 
and  fell  back  into  her  seat,  exhausted  by  her  own  rage. 


390    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

*'Da's  right,  Miz  Is'bel.  Set  yo'se'f  dar.  I 
ain'  come  heah  fo'  no  hu't.  I  come  heah  tu  git 
shet  o'  dis-yer  vvha'  I  done  cahy  on  my  hea't  like 
a  stone  o'  lead  all  dese  yeahs.  I  come  heah  fo' 
tell  yo'  de  troof  an'  git  'lowed  tu  pass.  Dey  ain' 
nuvva  been  nobody  on  dis  yearth  wha'  knowed  dis 
heah  on'y  me,  an'  now  I  done  tole  yo'  I  reckon  de 
Lawd  gwine  'low  me  tu  die  some  time,  an'  go  tu 
ol'  missus.  I  mine  de  time  yo'  mek  me  mahy  ol' 
brudder  Thomas  Ma'hshall.  Yo'  done  dat  'case 
yo'  hate  me,  make  me  mahy  de  brackes'  niggah  on 
de  place.  Da  's  all  right.  He  war  mighty  good 
man.  He  done  tol'  me  lub  dem  dat  hate  me.  Du 
good  tu  dem  dat  'spitefully  uses  me,  an'  I  done  hit. 
I  done  I'arn  dat  ar.  I  fo'gib  yo'  long  w'ile  'go, 
but  yo'  wan'  heah,  an'  I  could  n'  tell  yo'  de  troof 
ontwell  yo'  come  home  'g'in.  Mars'  Gen'l  he  lie 
dar  in  de  gr.abeya'd  wha'  dey  done  tuk  'im,  an' 
he's  soul  wait'n'  de  day  ob  jedgmen',  an'  'fo'  long 
yo'  gwine  lie  dar  tu,  I  reckon,  an'  now  I  done  tol' 
yo'  de  troof,  I  'low  I  kin  be  let  tu  pass  f'om  dis 
low  worl'  an'  go  home  one  o'  dese  days,  —  Lawd 
he'p  my  soul!  An'  w'en  we-all  stan'  dar  fo'  de 
gre't  w'ite  t'rone,  may  de  good  Lawd  he'p  yo'  soul 
tu.  I  'low  I  done  sin  a  gre't  sin,  but  I  done  'fess 
hit  'fo'  yo',  an'  'fo'  de  God  ob  heaben,  an'  he  wha' 
sit  on  de  t'rone,  he  kin  look  intu  de  hea't,  an'  he 
kin  jedge  'twixt  us  an'  Mars'  Gen'l  tu.  Oh,  good 
Lawd,  Mars'  Gen'l  done  sin  tu!  Ef  yo'  mus' 
strike  him,  Lawd,  le'  me  b'ar  de  blow."  She 
turned  away  with  this  prayer,  without  regarding 
the  old  woman  before  her  further. 

Slowly  she  crept  down  the  stairs,  replaced  her 


/ 


A  Midnight  Visit  391 

shoes  at  the  door,  and  left  the  house  as  she  had 
come. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Marshall  raised  herself.  The 
storm  within  her  had  not  subsided.  She  breathed 
heavily,  and  with  difficulty.  Her  face  turned  a 
dull  purple  hue.  She  threw  up  her  arms  and 
tried  to  run  after  her  old  slave,  and  taking  a  step 
or  two  forward,  fell  prone  across  the  threshold  of 
her  door.  There,  when  they  returned  from  the 
ball-room,  half  an  hour  later,  they  found  her  lying. 
In  one  hand  she  held  the  paper-knife,  clutched 
like  a  dagger. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 
A   BITTER   CUP 

MRS.  MARSHALL  lay  in  her  room,  silent 
as  death;  never  a  word,  never  a  movement 
of  her  helpless  body,  even  to  so  much  as  the  lift- 
ing of  a  finger.  Her  tortured  spirit  was  held  in  a 
silent  prison.  Her  slight  hands,  folded  among  the 
soft  white  laces  of  her  sleeves,  seemed  only  a  part 
of  them,  so  still  and  nerveless  they  lay. 

Her  hair,  which  had  showed  traces  of  its  youth- 
ful blackness  and  lustre,  became  in  a  week  as 
white  as  frosted  silver.  Only  her  dark  eyes,  glow- 
ing with  an  eager  fire,  searching  the  faces  about 
her,  noting  with  intent  alertness  all  that  passed, 
never  closing,  always  watching,  betrayed  the  suffer- 
ing soul  within. 

A  local  physician  was  called  without  delay,  and 
another  came  from  New  York,  at  great  expense. 
What  should  they  do  ?  Should  they  take  her  to  a 
sanatorium,  —  a  hospital  ?  How  could  they  help 
her.?  They  would  be  guided  by  him,  would  do 
anything  he  said,  —  but,  alas !  he  said  :  "  Let  her 
be;  she  is  better  off  where  she  is." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  what  a  well- 
trained  nurse  could  do.      He  would  send  them  one. 

Was  there  no  hope.?  None.  She  might  be  re- 
lieved somewhat,  but  any  sudden  change  for  the 

39? 


A  Bitter  Cup  393 

better  would  be  apt  to  be  followed  by  as  sudden  a 
decline,  and  possibly  death. 

However,  there  was  no  telling;  she  might  live 
months,   nay,  years. 

"Oh,  poor,  poor  aunty!"  sobbed  Marguerite, 
kneeling  beside  her,  with  her  arm  thrown  over  the 
thin,  nerveless  body.  "  Dear  aunty,  you  are  look- 
ing at  me;  you  know  we  love  you  even  if  we  have 
been  perverse.  Aunty  dear,  if  you  know  I  love 
you  and  am  sorry,  shut  your  eyes.  That  will  be  a 
sign  to  me  that  you  hear  me,  and  understand." 

The  great  eyes  slowly  closed,  and  slowly  opened 
again,  and  Marguerite  kissed  her. 

Then  John  returned  from  his  consultation  with 
the  physician,  and  Marguerite,  resting  her  head 
against  his  arm,  wept  again. 

"John,  if  we  could  only  have  pleased  her,  —  but 
we  could  not." 

"No,  little  sister,  we  could  not,"  he  said  ten- 
derly. "Come  away,"  and  they  went  into  the  next 
room. 

"John,  you  are  all  I  have  now.  I  am  all,  all 
alone." 

"  Marguerite,  look  into  my  eyes  and  tell  me  the 
truth.  Is  it  I  whom  you  love  best  in  the  world  ? 
Is  there  no  one  else  who  is  dearer,  just  a  little 
dearer,   it  may  be.'*  " 

"  My  heart  aches  so,  —  oh,  it  aches  so,  John.  I 
never  dreamed  such  a  terrible  thing  as  this  could 
come  upon  us.      It  is  n't  a  punishment,  is  it.^  " 

"No,  no,  dear.  Why  should  you  be  punished.'* 
Now  won't  you  Answer  my  question.?" 

Marguerite   dried   her    eyes   and    looked   away. 


394    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Then  turning,  she  put  her  hand  in  John's,  and 
looking  straight  in  his  face,  said,  "  Yes,  John. 
You  know  there  is  one  —  one  —  dearer  even  than 
you  are.  I  will  be  true.  I  will  never  pretend 
anything  any  more." 

''Then  may  he  come  in  and  speak  to  you.-*  He 
is  waiting  to  see  you.  Poor  fellow !  he  has  waited 
ever  since  that  terrible  night  just  to  say  one  word 
of  comfort.  Dr.  Holmes  says  this  may  result 
fatally  now,  or  may  not.  We  must  take  what 
comes  as  God's  will,  and  for  ourselves,  we  must 
do  what  we  know  is  right  by  those  we  love.  Will 
you  see  him.  Marguerite?" 

"Yes." 

"Then,  little  sister,  I  '11  ask  him  to  come  to 
you ;  "   and  he  turned  toward  the  door. 

"Wait,  John,"  she  said;  and  he  came  back 
again.  "  I  am  not  sending  you  away  from  me, 
John ;  I  want  you  to  know  that  you  are  dear  to  me 
too,"  she  said  tearfully.  "I  am  not  ungrateful. 
Stoop  down."  He  bent  his  head  towards  her,  and 
taking  his  face  between  her  two  hands  she  kissed 
him.  "There,  now  go,"  she  said;  and  he  went, 
humbled  in  his  heart.  Had  he  always  been  just 
to  this  impetuous  little  soul,  struggling  through 
false  teaching  and  almost  every  hampering  cir- 
cumstance to  find  its  true  light.?  He  feared  not. 
Thank  God  there  had  been  one  able,  imperfectly, 
perhaps,   to  sound  its  depths. 

His  friend  was  pacing  restlessly  up  and  down 
the  long  hall.  John  laid  his  hand  on  his  arm  and 
said  gravely,  "You  may  go  to  her.  She  will  see 
you,"  and  passed  on. 


A  Bitter  Cup  395 

When  Hanford  entered  he  found  her  standing  as 
John  had  left  her,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with 
flushed  cheeks  and  tearful  eyes.  He  held  out  his 
arms,  and  she  came  to  them,  —  the  arms  that  had 
opened  once  to  set  her  free. 

The  fall  days  crept  on,  and  the  heat  waxed 
greater,  and  then  gradually  lessened,  and  the  silent 
splendor  of  the  autumn  stole  over  the  hills  and 
valleys,  and  the  summer  boarders  dropped  off,  a 
few  at  a  time,  until  the  great  house  was  left  nearly 
empty.  Portia  had  leisure  now  for  thinking  and 
dreaming,  for  driving  with  John  over  the  dear  old 
mountain  roads,  and  for  her  grandfather's  pleasure 
also.  The  sweet  tones  of  his  violin  might  be 
heard  at  almost  any  hour,  penetrating  like  rays 
of  sunlight  through  the  gloom. 

There  was  always  a  happy  light  in  Portia's  eyes 
these  days,  and  her  voice  seemed  to  grow  fuller 
and  richer. 

They  were  standing  on  the  hillside  one  day,  she 
and  John.  Her  hands  were  full  of  the  late  chrysan- 
themums, —  a  glowing  mass  of  color. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  these?"  he 
asked. 

"Come  with  me,  and  I  will  show  you,"  she 
replied.  She  led  him  over  the  brambly  hillside 
until  they  came  to  a  small  cleared  space,  where 
were  two  or  three  low  mounds  fenced  in.  One 
seemed  to  have  been  made  years  before,  and  was 
almost  effaced,  but  was  marked  by  a  rude  head- 
board which  had  been  painted  white.  The  other 
seemed  to  have  been  more  recently  made.  The  red 
soil  was  not  yet  overrun  with  weeds  and  brambles. 


396    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

"Here  it  is, — the  place  where  they  laid  that 
white-headed  old  preather, "  she  said.  Dividing 
her  flowers,  she  laid  part  of  them  at  the  foot  of  the 
weather-beaten  headboard,  and  the  rest  she  placed 
on  the  old  man's  grave.  "  I  come  here  every  week. 
I  have  never  been  able,  quite,  to  get  that  scene  off 
my  mind :  that  night  when  he  was  shot,  you  know. 
It  hangs  like  a  shadow  in  the  midst  of  my  happi- 
ness. I  have  been  so  happy,  John;"  she  slipped 
her  hand  into  his.  "You  know  that  tragedy,  after 
all,  was  the  beginning  of  our  knowing  each 
other." 

"  The  beginning  of  our  happiness  was  long  before 
that,  when  you  came  upon  me  there  in  Germany; 
and  next,  when  I  sat  alone  out  in  the  darkness, 
and  you  sang  to  me ;  and  again,  when  you  ran  out 
early  in  the  morning  and  sang  to  me.  You  see 
the  happy  beginning  was  made  long  before  this 
ever  happened.  There  is  no  shadow  hanging  over 
you." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  did,  for  you,  John,  Don't 
think  me  morbid ;  I  am  the  happiest  woman  on 
earth.  These  are  all  the  flowers  I  shall  have  to 
put  here  this  year.     By  next  week  they  may  all  be 


gone." 


"Miss  Mann,"  he  said,  reading  the  name  that 
was  painted  on  the  headboard.  "  Why  do  you  put 
them  on  this  grave  .-*  " 

"Haven't  you  heard  of  her.^  She  came  down 
here,  and  literally  sacrificed  herself  for  the  colored 
people.  I  have  heard  them  tell  about  her.  She 
lived  among  them,  taught  them,  and  finally  died 
among  them," 


A  Bitter  Cup  397 

John  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise.  "You 
have  changed  in  your  feelings,  then,  toward  them, 
since  we  had  our  first  talk  together?  " 

"Why,  no,  I  can't  really  say  that  I  have.  I 
am  fighting  away  at  my  prejudices,  however." 

"Why  do  you?     They  are  only  natural." 

"  Are  they  natural,  or  from  wrong  education  ?  I 
have  my  theories,  you  know,  and  am  trying  to  live 
up  to  them." 

"You  beautiful  little  Puritan!"  he  said,  laugh- 
ing, and  drawing  her  toward  him.  "Come  away 
from  here.     Tell  me,   what  are  your  theories  ?  " 

"For  one  thing,  I  think  we  have  wrong  esti- 
mates in  this  world." 

"  More  so  than  in  other  worlds  of  your  expe- 
rience? " 

Portia  laughed.  "  Yes.  We  are  to  graduate  out 
of  this  into  another  where  prejudices  have  no  part. 
It  will  not  be,  '  What  color  are  you  ?  '  or,  '  What 
occupation  have  you?  '  or,  '  How  much  money  have 
you  ?  '  but,  '  What  are  you  ?  '  " 

"  So  you  are  fighting  your  prejudices  beforehand. 
Are  you  really  sure  you  have  any  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Ah!  I  am  glad." 

"Glad  to  discover  weaknesses  in  me  that  are 
unworthy?  Why?  "  She  stood  on  a  great  boulder 
looking  down  on  him. 

"  Because  —  "  he  held  out  his  hand  to  assist  her 
down,  and  springing,  she  landed  in  his  arms  in- 
stead of  on  the  ground. 

"  Put  me  down,  John  ;  for  shame." 

"Because,"  he  went  on,  "if  you  have  not  a  few 


(( 


398   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

frailties,  how  am  I  going  to  keep  you  in  this  world 
with  me?    Cling  to  your  prejudices,  by  all  means." 

She  burst  into  merry  laughter.  "  No,  Mr.  John. 
It  is  my  privilege  to  hide  my  weaknesses  from  you. 
You  will  discover  them  soon  enough." 

"Now  as  we  walk  home  talk  about  the  future," 
he  said. 

"  How  can  we  ?  " 

"Why,  this  way.  You  set  the  wedding  day,  and 
I,  as  the  architect,  will  begin  building  us  a  castle 
in  Spain." 

"Very  well;  then  I  will  say  next  June." 

"  What  ? " 
Next  June." 

Why  not  wait  forever.?  Say  next  Christmas, 
and  I  can  count  the  time  by  days  instead  of 
months." 

"But  there  will  be  so  much  to  arrange." 

"Not  at  all.  Consider.  My  hotel  has  taken 
your  occupation  from  you;  the  proprietor  is  al- 
ready in  it,  and  has  ruined  your  business.  What 
is  there  for  you  to  arrange  ?  There  is  nothing  left 
you  but  to  take  up  a  new  career.  You  are  to  go 
to  Europe,  and  finally  are  to  astonish  the  world. 
You  are  to  be  the  finest  artist  living,  and  I  am 
to  dance  attendance  as  your  humble  and  devoted 
slave.  Thousands,  nay,  millions,  will  flock  to  hear 
you.     The  world  will  bow  down  at  your  feet." 

"John,  stop  this  nonsense,"  she  said,  laughing. 
"Can't  you  think  of  a  greater  career  for  me.?" 
jt/ttu^rmt^^'YQs^  my  Puritan,  yes." 

'^■*fM»^mi^   "To   be   your   wife,  j.nd   the    mistress   of   your 
home,   John .?  " 


A  Bitter  Cup  399 

"Yes,  you  read  me  right.     Selfish  creatures  we 


men  are." 


"  Selfish  to  bestow  on  me  the  greatest  honor  a 
man  can.?     Oh,  John,  you  hardly  read  me  aright." 

"  You  never  quite  said  those  words  with  me  I 
once  asked  you  to  say." 

"No.?  Then  I  will  say  them  now.  'No  power 
on  earth  shall  take  me  from  you,  John. '  Are 
those  the  words }  " 

"  Yes,  and  for  me  I  have  said  them  over  and 
over :  '  No  power  on  earth  shall  take  you  from  me, 
Portia.'     Then  at  Christmas,  shall  we  say.?  " 

"  Let  us  begin  the  new  year  together." 

"As  you  say."  He  looked  at  her,  walking  at  his 
side,  with  quiet  happiness  shining  in  his  eyes. 

"  And  let  us  not  build  any  more  castles  in  Spain 
now  because  of  your  mother." 

"  Yes,  she  must  be  prepared.  I  will  do  it  very 
gently.      I  think  she  will  understand." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  and  when  they  reached 
home  a  few  raindrops  were  pattering  down  on  the 
fallen  leaves. 

Thus  the  days  slipped  away.  Now  it  was  John 
and  Portia,  and  now  it  was  Hanford  and  Marguerite 
who  were  building  castles  in  Spain.  The  double 
wedding  day  was  set;  it  was  coming  on  apace. 
The  old  woman  still  lay  in  her  chamber  of  silence, 
like  death  in  life.  Her  restless  eyes  searched 
every  face  that  entered,  as  if  vainly  seeking  one 
who  could  interpret  her  thoughts  for  her.  Clare 
and  the  medical  nurse  watched  over  her  every  com- 
fort, and  Marguerite  sat  by  her  side,  faithfully 
trying  to  anticipate  her  wishes.      She  worked   at 


400  When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

her  embroidery  there.  Sometimes  she  read  to  her. 
"  If  you  understand  and  like  it,  aunty  dear,  close 
your  eyes  once;"  and  slowly  her  eyes  would  close 
and  open  again.  "And  if  you  are  tired,  aunty, 
close  and  open  them  twice."  This  was  her  only 
means  of  communication  with  those  around  her. 

One  day  John  stood  by  the  side  of  her  bed.  He 
had  been  walking,  and  was  warm,  for  the  Decem- 
ber sun  shone,  and  although  it  was  late  the  frosts 
had  not  yet  come  to  nip  things.  His  hair  was 
damp  and  clung  to  his  forehead  and  temples.  He 
pushed  back  the  clustering  mass  that  had  been 
pressed  down  by  his  hat,  and  wiped  his  brow  and 
neck  with  his  handkerchief.  As  he  looked  down 
on  her,  he  smiled.  It  was  a  smile  full  of  tender- 
ness and  love. 

"  Mother  dear,  if  I  could  I  would  give  you  part 
of  my  health  and  vigor,"  he  said.  Ah,  he  was 
beautiful  to  look  at  as  he  stood  there  in  his 
strength.  "  I  would  take  you  up  in  my  arms  and 
carry  you  out  in  the  sunlight.  You  are  so  light  I 
could  do  it  easily,  right  here  on  the  upper  veranda. 
Would  you  like  it.-*  "     She  closed  her  eyes. 

"Nurse,"  he  called,  "can  I  take  mother  out  in 
the  sun  a  moment,  here  on  the  gallery  ?  " 

"  You  can't  mean  it !  "  she  said,  entering  quickly 
from  another  room. 

"Yes,  see  how  warm  it  is."  So  they  wrapped 
her  carefully  in  a  soft,  clinging  blanket,  and  he  car- 
ried her  out  through  the  double  French  window. 

"The  air  is  sweet,  mother,  and  you  are  not 
heavy."  He  paced  up  and  down,  holding  her  as  if 
she  were  a  child.     "  I  must  do  this  every  day  now. 


A  Bitter  Cup  401 

Perhaps  it  may  give  you   strength  to  speak  to  us 


again." 


Marguerite  and  Hanford  were  walking  in  the 
paths,  among  the  dropping  autumn  leaves,  arm  in 
arm.  She  saw  them,  and  her  eyes  wandered  from 
them  to  John's  face. 

"  It  is  all  right,  mother  dear.  Try  to  feel  that 
it  is." 

Mr.  Ridgeway  and  his  daughter  sat  on  the  lower 
veranda.  The  murmur  of  their  voices  came  up  to 
them.  Presently  Mr.  Ridgeway  spoke  out  in  a 
little  louder  tone. 

The  day  is  drawing  very  near  now,"  he  said. 

It  makes  me  a  little  sad,  but  I  would  not  have 
her  see  it." 

John  walked  to  the  farther  end  of  the  gallery, 
and  Mrs.  Van  Ostade's  low  reply  was  lost.  As  he 
paced  back  the  grandfather  spoke  again,  — ■ 

"It  is  n't  that  I  regret  it,  Clara;  John  is  a  noble 
fellow,  and  her  happiness  is  dearer  to  me  than  my 


own." 


Once  more  the  low  reply  was  lost,  and  John  car- 
ried his  mother  back  and  laid  her  on  the  bed  again. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  steadily  on  his,  as  if  she  would 
pierce  him  through.  He  knew  she  had  compre- 
hended. The  nurse  had  stepped  away  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  he  arranged  the  pillows  and  clothing 
and  placed  the  poor  helpless  body  in  an  easy  pos- 
ture, and  folded  her  thin  white  hands  over  the 
counterpane  with  the  deft,  gentle  touch  of  a  woman. 

"  Listen,  mother.  It  is  best  for  both  of  us. 
Try  to  feel  that  it  is.  Let  nothing  trouble  you, 
mother  dear.  Try  only  to  recover  enough  to  speak 
26 


402    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

to  us  again,  and  tell  us  that  it  is  right.  It  is  best 
for  Marguerite,  believe  me,  it  is." 

Suddenly  a  dark  purple  flush  suffused  her  face, 
and  he  noticed  that  her  lips  were  moving.  His 
heart  gave  a  sudden  bound,  and  slipping  his  hand 
under  the  pillow  he  lifted  her  head  and  put  his 
ear  close  to  try  to  catch  her  words;  and  he  did,  and 
the  curse  they  brought  him  as  they  were  whispered, 
half  hissed  at  him. 

"  Better  for  —  her  —  for  Mar  —  Marguerite,  — 
yes  —  you  - —  you  —  are  not  my  —  son  you  —  have 
robbed  —  him  of — his  po  —  position,   his  —  birth 

—  right  —  of  his  in  —  heritance  you  —  you  —  are 
part  of  the  devil's  —  own  brood  —  I  —  I  —  hate  you 

—  as  I  hated  —  her  —  who  bore  you. — Go  to  your 
old  —  old  dam  —  and  wring  —  the  truth  —  from  her 
and  —  then  —  kill  her  and  never  —  say  the  word  — 
mother  —  of  me  again  —  nor  let  —  me  see  —  your 
face  —  again  —  go. " 

Her  face  became  pallid  once  more.  She  ceased 
speaking,  and  closed  her  eyes.  He  laid  her  down 
again,  still  gently,  and  tried  to  call  the  nurse,  but 
had  no  voice.  Presently  he  regained  self-control, 
and  finding  her  sent  her  to  the  bedside,  and  went 
into  the  garden  to  Marguerite. 

''Mother  has  spoken  a  few  words,"  he  said. 
"Go  to  her  quickly.  She  may  have  something  to 
say  to  you."  He  was  deathly  pale.  Oh,  the  force 
of  habit !  He  had  called  her  mother  again.  Mar- 
guerite hurried  in,  and  Hanford,  noticing  his  agita- 
tion, started  to  follow  John,  as  he  walked  away, 
but,  prompted  by  his  inner  consciousness,  as 
quickly  stopped  and  remained  where  he  was. 


A  Bitter  Cup  403 

John  strode  rapidly  along,  conning  the  words  he 
had  just  heard.  "Perhaps  she  was  just  raving," 
he  thought,  —  but  they  had  come  to  him  so  dis- 
tinctly; they  had  fallen  like  drops  of  liquid  fire 
into  his  soul.  Did  she  mean  Mammy  Clarissa? 
He  would  go  to  her  and  learn  the  truth.  But 
there  was  no  truth  in  it.  His  mother's  reason  was 
gone.  He  came  to  the  foot  log  over  the  stream, 
and  paused.  Here  was  the  place  where  he  had 
told  his  love  to  Portia  on  that  sweet  spring  morn- 
ing. The  stream  rushed  on,  tumbling  and  foaming 
over  the  rocks,  careless  of  human  love  or  human 
sorrow,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  voice  the  tumult  of 
his  spirit  now,  even  as  it  had  seemed  to  voice,  on 
that  fair,  early  morning,  the  impetuous  rush  of  his 
happy  heart. 

Mechanically  he  crossed  the  log  and  walked 
on  to  the  little  clearing.  There  were  two  cabins 
there  now,  and  an  addition  to  the  log  stable  for 
Gabriella's  cow.  Josephus  was  living  comfortably 
beside  his  mother  in  his  own  little  cabin,  with  his 
two  mules  all  paid  for.  John  had  given  him  work 
and  good  pay  all  summer.  No  one  was  about. 
Gabriella  was  singing  a  hymn  to  a  tune  full  of 
quavers  as  she  prepared  Josephus'  supper. 

John  crossed  the  yard  and  entered  Clarissa's 
cabin.  "  I  will  go  in,  at  any  rate,  and  see  her  now 
that  I  am  here,"  he  said  to  himself. 

"Is  yo'  come,  honey.-*"  She  was  seated  bent 
over  the  embers,  and  stirred  them  into  a  bright 
blaze.  "O  Lawd !  Yo'  is  dat  like  yo'  paw 
w'en  he  come  an'  paid  de  money  fo'  me  dat  time! 
Draw  up  yo'  cheer,  honey,"  and  he  did  so. 


404    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Ah,  how  often  when  he  was  a  child  he  had 
turned  away  from  his  mother's  reproofs  and  found 
comfort  in  her  arms !  How  often,  when  he  was 
weary,  he  had  climbed  into  her  lap  and  rested  his 
head  on  her  bosom,  and  fallen  peacefully  to  sleep, 
listening  to  her  crooning. 

He  remained  in  the  cabin,  questioning  her  and 
listening  to  her  now,  for  over  an  hour;  and  when 
he  came  out  he  closed  the  door  softly  after  him, 
and  walked  off  down  the  road  reeling  like  a 
drunken  man,  staggering  under  a  load  that  he  felt 
himself  in  his  strength  too  weak  to  carry.  When 
he  reached  the  stream  he  was  too  weary  and  heavy 
to  go  farther.  He  stretched  himself  on  the  ground 
face  downward,  and  the  darkness  slowly  and  silently 
closed  over  him  like  a  mantle  of  sorrow.  He  heard 
the  ceaseless  noise  of  the  water  like  the  rushing 
and  crowding  and  striving  of  human  hearts,  ever 
pushing  and  hurrying  to  their  doom,  and  ever  cry- 
ing out  in  the  darkness.  Were  all  the  demons  of 
hell  let  loose  upon  him.'*  What  should  he  do.? 
"Curse  God  and  die?" 

His  temptation  came  upon  him  swift  and  ter- 
rible. Why  should  he  not  cover  all  this  up  in  his 
heart  and  let  everything  go  on  as  before.  Was 
it  not  God's  will.'*  "Bury  it,"  said  the  tempter 
within  him.  "Who  will  know.?"  But  the  still 
small  voice  of  his  heart  said,  "  Shall  I  rob  my 
brother,  and  know  it.?"  And  all  night  long  the 
fires  burned  in  his  spirit  until  it  was  purged  and 
laid  bare  before  his  Creator. 

All  night  he  lay  there  fighting  with  evil,  for  it 
was  heavy  upon  him  and  beset  him  sore.     As  the 


A  Bitter  Cup  405 

dawn  began  to  glow  in  the  east  a  sleep  of  exhaus- 
tion fell  upon  him,  and  in  his  sleep  it  seemed  a 
spirit  came  to  him  holding  a  whip  of  small  cords, 
with  which  it  drove  away  the  darkness  and  demons 
that  had  surrounded  him  during  the  night;  and 
then  it  seemed  a  voice  spoke  words  of  comfort  in 
his  ears, — words  he  had  often  heard,  unthinking 
of  their  meaning,  from  the  pulpit,  when  the  scrip- 
tures were  read;  and  then  it  seemed  a  voice  like 
Portia's  took  them  up  and  sang  them;  and  in  his 
restless  sleep  he  seemed  to  see  a  woman  stand 
where  the  spirit  had  stood,  pale  and  sad,  and  very 
beautiful,  and  that  as  she  bent  above  him  her  tears 
fell  upon  him,  and  he  could  hear  her  weeping,  and 
that  he  tried  to  reach  out  to  her,  to  touch  her 
hand,  but  could  not;  then  he  seemed  to  hear  the 
sound  of  the  whirring  of  many  wings,  and  he 
awoke,  and  only  the  sound  of  the  rushing  water 
was  in  his  ears. 

He  rose,  and  went  to  the  stream  and  bathed  his, 
face  and  cooled  his  throbbing  temples.  "  My  God," 
he  said,  "  if  I  had  yielded,  how  could  I  ever  have 
gone  to  her  with  a  lie  in  my  heart.?  Her  eyes 
would  have  searched  it  out.  If  I  were  to  kiss  her 
with  the  lie  on  my  lips,  they  would  have  blackened 
her. " 

He  walked  on,  stronger  now;  his  brow  was 
clear  and  his  face  very  pale.  He  looked  older,  but 
he  had  conquered.  He  did  not  go  to  Mrs,  Wells, 
but  took  his  way  to  the  old  home.  What  to  do  in 
the  immediate  future  he  knew  not,  but  he  seemed 
irresistibly  drawn  back  to  the  scene  of  his  desola- 
tion.    Clare  met  him  at  the  door. 


4o6    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

*'  How  is  she?  "  he  asked  mechanically. 

**  La  madam  ?  Ze  is  dead. "  She  spoke  in  a 
whisper,   as  if  she  feared  the  dead  might  hear. 

Mechanically,  still,  he  walked  up  to  her  room. 
The  medical  nurse  was  there,  stepping  softly  about. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  come,"  she  said.  "Mr. 
Ridgeway  was  just  going  for  you.  She  has  not 
opened  her  eyes  since  you  left  yesterday.  She 
stopped  breathing  an  hour  ago." 

He  stood  beside  the  bed  looking  down  on  her. 
So  his  was  the  last  face  she  had  looked  on ;  how 
changed,  now,  since  he  stood  there  yesterday,  in 
all  the  buoyancy  of  power  and  happiness !  He  felt 
himself  old,  and  scarce  thinking  what  he  did,  he 
passed  his  hand  over  his  face,  half  expecting  to 
find  it  wrinkled  and  drawn.  Marguerite  came  and 
stood  beside  him  silently  weeping.  Presently  Han- 
ford  entered  and  stood  on  the  other  side.  John 
felt  his  eyelids  hot  and  dry.  No  tears  came  to  his 
eyes  as  he  looked  down  on  her  whom  from  child- 
hood he  had  called  mother.  Her  face  had  not  the 
peaceful  calm  upon  it  usual  in  bodies  from  which 
the  spirit  has  fled ;  it  looked  distorted  and  drawn, 
as  if  worried  with  pain.  He  could  stand  it  no 
longer  and  walked  away.  In  the  upper  hall  he 
met  Mrs.  Van  Ostade.  She  came  up  to  him,  hold- 
ing out  both  hands.  He  took  them  and  held  them 
in  his. 

"We  all  love  you,  John.  We  would  help  you  if 
we  could." 

"I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  he  said;  and  for  the 
first  time  he  kissed  her.  "  Remember,  always  re- 
member,   that    your   generous,    sweet   loving   was 


A  Bitter  Cup  407 

returned  tenfold,"  he  said,  and  left  her.  In  the 
drawing-room  he  found  Portia,  as  he  had  found  her 
on  the  day  of  Mrs.  Marshall's  arrival,  arranging 
and  putting  away  her  music,  only  now  she  was 
pale,  and  her  hands  trembled.  Death  had  entered 
the  house.  He  paused  on  the  threshold,  but  she 
came  quickly  and  drew  him  to  a  seat  beside  her. 
Ah,   the  healing  in  that  firm,  gentle  touch ! 

"I  have  been  waiting  for  you  here,  John,"  she 
said,  and  then  sat  silent,  holding  his  hand  in  hers. 
She  was  timid  in  the  presence  of  his  sorrow,  so 
different  from  what  she  thought,  and  yet  so  much 
greater  than  she  could  know.  "This  grief  should 
be  mine  also,  John,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  would 
help  you  bear  it." 

"  No,  dearest,  you  will  have  your  own  to  bear, 
and  they  will  be  heavy  enough.  Promise  me  that 
whatever  comes  you  will  not  try  to  carry  mine." 
He  took  her  face  in  his  hands  and  looked  bravely 
and  tenderly  into  her  eyes.  "Promise  me,  my 
beautiful. " 

"I  can't,  John;  the  words  we  said  together  that 
day  make  it  impossible.  Your  sorrows  are  to  be 
mine  forever.  Where  would  be  the  sweetness  of 
loving  if  it  were  not  so }  " 

"  Forgive  me,  forgive  me,  darling.  I  made  you 
say  them.  Oh,  forgive  me  !  "  He  bowed  his  head 
and  walked  wearily  away. 

In  the  garden  Hanford  was  waiting  for  him. 
"Let  me  do  anything  for  you  that  must  be  done," 
he  said  kindly.  "Are  there  telegrams  to  be 
sent .?  " 

^'None.     She  had  no  friends,"  he  said  bitterly, 


4o8    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

shaking  off  the  friendly  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
walked  on.  Instantly  he  turned  back.  "  Forgive 
me ;  I  have  a  heavier  load  to  bear  than  you  dream 
of.  Yes.  Take  care  of  all  these  things  for  me, 
and  —  well  —  you  will  know  what  to  do.  She  is  to 
be  laid  beside  my  father,  of  course."  He  wrung 
the  hand  held  out  to  him.  "  You  have  always  been 
more  than  a  friend  to  me,  Hanford,"  and  he  walked 
away.  Again  he  turned  back.  "  Let  the  funeral 
be  soon,  —  immediately  the  arrangements  can  be 
made.  We  must  relieve  the  family  of  the  gloom 
as  soon  as  possible." 

Faint  and  exhausted,  he  went  to  his  room  and 
lay  down.  Presently  came  a  gentle  knock  at  his 
door.  He  opened  it,  and  there  stood  Miss  Kath- 
erine  with  his  breakfast,  the  fragrant  coffee  steam- 
ing in  her  daintiest  china. 

**  You  were  not  down  to  breakfast  with  us,"  she 
said,  "and  I  thought  you  might  not  be  well." 
Then  looking  up  she  noted  his  face  and  started. 
"John,  what  is  it.^     Tell  me." 

He  could  not  open  his  lips  yet  upon  his  terrible 
secret.  He  took  the  tray  from  her  and  placed  it 
on  the  table.     "She  is  dead,"  was  all  he  said. 

"Who  is,  John?  Have  you  been  out  this  morn- 
ing, and  without  your  breakfast  ?  "  Strange  to 
say,  she  thought  first  of  Portia;  the  death  of  his 
mother  it  was  reasonable  to  expect,  but  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face  seemed  to  go  beyond  a  reasonable 
grief.  How  could  he  answer  her.'*  He  could  not 
say  of  the  woman  who  was  gone,  "  my  mother;  "  the 
sweetness  of  that  word,  to  utter,  would  never 
be  his  again. 


A  Bitter  Cup  409 

"My  father's  wife.  She  is  dead;  is  to  be  laid  by 
his  side  at  last." 

"Your  mother.''  But  that  was  to  be  expected, 
John,"  she  said  in  tenderest  reproof.  "You  should 
not  grieve  so  now  that  she  suffers  no  more.  Eat ; 
you  have  been  without  food  too  long.  Where  were 
you  at  supper  ^  " 

"I  —  I  don't  know.  Oh,  yes,  I  remember. 
Yes,  I  will  eat  now.  I  need  food.  I  don't  seem 
to  be  able  to  talk  now." 

She  busied  herself  pouring  his  coffee  and  plac- 
ing his  plate.  Her  eyes  swam  in  tears,  but  she 
said  nothing.  He  was  touched  by  her  sympathetic 
silence. 

"  In  my  boyhood  I  brought  my  troubles  to  you, 
Katherine;  but  now,  sweet  as  your  friendship  is,  I 
have  one  I  must  bear  alone." 

"  You  may  think  you  are  bearing  it  alone,  but 
you  won't  be,  John." 

"That  is  the  bitterness  of  it,"  he  cried,  and 
bowed  his  head  in  his  hand.  "Good  God!  if  I 
could  only  bear  it  alone!" 

Why,  John,  is  n't  that  almost  wicked.?  " 
No,  it  is  righteous." 

But,   John,  in  this  house  you  are  in  Donald's 
place.     Would  you  have  it  otherwise  .-* " 

He  could  not  answer  her.  His  tongue  clove  to 
his  mouth,  and  he  moistened  his  lips  with  water. 
"To-morrow,  no,  the  day  after,  we  —  we  will  talk. 
After  she  is  laid  away.  Now  I  cannot,  only  of  your 
goodness  to  me,  — yours  and  your  mother's." 

"  No,  not  of  that.  Eat  now,  and  when  you  can, 
come  down  to  ma;  she  will  know  what  to  say." 


(I 
it 


41  o   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

John  was  right.  There  are  paths  where  man 
must  tread  alone.  No  human  soul  can  go  with 
him  into  the  deeps,  and  only  God  can  send  light 
to  his  feet.  That  day,  and  the  next,  and  the 
next,  crept  painfully,  heavily  by,  like  mourners 
in  a  funeral  train.  Then  John  gathered  himself 
together  to  meet  the  future. 

"  Shall  you  take  up  your  profession  again,  Han- 
ford  .-*  "  he  asked,  when  the  earth  had  fallen  at 
last,  covering  her  whom  all  his  life  he  had  called 
mother. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  it.      And  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  were,  I  was  thinking  I  would  ask  you  — 
my  friend  —  my  more  than  friend  —  "  He  stopped. 
His  voice  was  hard  and  his  lips  were  dry.  How 
could  he  tell  his  bitter  secret,  which  had  not  yet 
been  told  —  but  tell  it  he  must.  "  I  would  ask  you 
to  take  charge  of  some  business  for  me,  if  you  were 
—  that  I  can  trust  to  no  one  else.  May  we  go  to 
my  room.-*     I  have  all  my  papers  there." 

And  there,  in  Donald's  old  room,  John  learned, 
as  few  in  this  world  ever  do  learn,  the  value  of  a 
friend.  After  it  was  all  over,  and  the  secret  told, 
and  Hanford  gone,  John  tried  to  write  to  Portia. 
Once  and  again  he  took  the  pen,  but  his  hand 
trembled,  and  he  laid  it  down.  Finally,  finding 
his  weakness  greater  than  his  strength,  knowing 
what  he  must  do,  but  holding  back,  he  fell  on  his 
knees.  He  found  no  words  in  which  to  speak  to 
his  Creator;  only  in  his  heart  was  one  cry,  — 
"Christ,  Thou  hast  suffered;  Thou  too!"  and  this 
cry  of  his  heart  seemed  to  bring  him  the  calmness 
he  needed.     Once   more  he  took  up  the  pen  and 


A  Bitter  Cup  41 1 

simply  and  truly  told  her  the  story  of  his  life,  and 
how  at  last  the*  truth  had  been  revealed  to  him. 

"And  now,  beautiful  spirit  whom  I  love,  turn 
from  me.  My  life  has  been  a  dream,  an  unreality. 
I  have  usurped  from  another  who  has  been  de- 
graded in  my  place.  Let  me  drop  out  of  your  life 
as  dreams  drop  out  of  the  heart  they  have  stirred 
and  troubled.  Weep  for  me,  beautiful  Portia,  but 
be  not  sorrowful  for  me  overmuch,  —  let  me  die  in 
thy  tears.  My  love  for  thee  is  all  that  lives  within 
me.  I  am  leaving  forever.  No  one  shall  know 
whither  I  go.  Beautiful,  pure  soul,  thy  life  may  \y^ 
not  be  linked  with  a  stain.  I  stay  for  nothing,  for 
to  be  near  thee  is  torture,  even  unto  death.  I  may 
not  call  thee  my  beautiful,  mine,  although  it  is 
still  in  my  heart  to  say  it;  but  do  for  me  one  thing 
that  I  ask  of  thee.  Mr.  Clark  will  tell  thee  what 
it  is.  Do  it,  that  I  may  know  how  great  was  thy 
love.  All  the  happiness  I  built  for  thee,  I  cannot 
have  it  shattered.  This  that  I  ask  of  thee  is  all 
the  pleasure  left  me.  Do  what  he  asks  of  thee. 
I  fear  for  thee,  dearest,  when  thou  art  lonely ; 
when  thy  heart  is  sad  for  me,  remember  that  I  live 
only  in  my  love  for  thee,  —  but  never  seek  to  find 
me.  This  burden  I  must  bear  alone,  and  thou, 
dear  heart,  must  be  free.  No  power  on  earth  — 
Oh,  Portia!  my  life,  my  beautiful,  I  sinned  when 
I  wrung  those  words  from  thee.  Forgive  me,  and 
take  them  back.  Oh,  God !  that  I  should  love  thee 
thus,  and  turn  my  face  away  from  thee  forever ! " 

He  folded  and  addressed  the  letter  and  sealed 
it,  and  went  out  in  the  dusk  and  mailed  it,  fearing 
his  own  weakness  if  he  kept  it  in  his  possession, 


412    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Later  he  strolled  out  in  the  darkness.  He  would 
go  to  her  and  say  farewell,  telling  her  nothing  but 
that  he  must  go  immediately  to  New  York. 

As  he  neared  the  house  he  heard  her  singing 
snatches  of  the  song  he  heard  her  singing  first. 
He  still  had  her  music,  but  she  sang  bits  from 
memory.  She  was  alone,  and  hoping  he  might 
come.  He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  fountain,  as 
before,  so  long  ago  it  seemed  to  him  now.  Pres- 
ently the  singing  ceased,  and  she  came  to  the 
door,  looking  out  into  the  darkness,  as  if  he  had 
called  her. 

"I  am  here,  Portia."  She  came  out  to  him.  "I 
am  listening  to  you  as  I  listened  to  you  so  long 
ago,  love.  I  was  too  sad  to  come  in,  for  I  am 
only  here  to  say  good-bye  to  you.  I  must  go  to 
New  York  immediately." 

"To  New  York,  John  .? " 

"Yes,  at  midnight.     It  is  important." 

"What  a  pity!  when  we  are  to  go  together  in  so 
short  a  time."  What  a  sweet  ring  in  her  voice! 
He  could  not  trust  himself  to  go  with  her  into  the 
lighted  room. 

"Come,  bring  a  wrap  and  walk  with  me  here  in 
the  starlight." 

She  brought  the  same  little  white  shawl  he  had 
folded  her  in  so  often,  and  once  again  he  placed  it 
about  her,  and  once  again  her  pulses  quickened  at 
his  touch.  She  felt  that  he  was  sad ;  it  was  but 
natural.  Ah,  little  she  thought  she  was  walking 
beside  a  tortured  soul,  —  that  every  bright  and 
hopeful  thing  she  said  cut  him  to  the  heart.  She 
tried  to  divert  him  from  his  grief  by  telling  him 


A  Bitter  Cup  41  3 

all  the  pretty  little  details  of  the  preparations  she 
was  making  for  his  wedding,  and  what  Marguerite 
was  doing  and  saying. 

"  Marguerite  is  so  buoyant.  She  grieves ;  but 
now,  since  she  has  given  herself  up  to  her  lover, 
she  is  simply  irresistible.  It  will  be  the  marvel 
of  my  life  that  you  could  have  been  such  a  foolish 
John.  I  can  see  no  reason  for  it  except  that  I 
might  be  made  happy." 

"  You  must  always  love  her,  for  my  sake.  No 
matter  what  comes  to  me,  love  her.  Will  you  ? 
The  time  may  come  when  she  will  be  a  great  com- 
fort to  you. " 

"  How  could  I  help  it,  John.?"  Then  she  told 
him  of  her  wedding  dress.  "  It  is  done,  but  you 
are  not  to  see  it  until  I  wear  it,  Mr.  John." 

He  could  bear  it  no  longer.  He  had  meant  to 
say  only  a  hurried  good-bye,  and  he  had  lingered 
too  long.  He  felt  he  had  no  right  to  touch  her. 
She  was  never  to  be  his. 

"  I  must  take  you  back  to  the  house  now,  for  I 
must  go."  Presently  they  stood  beside  the  foun- 
tain. "When  are  you  going  to  shut  it  off.-*"  he 
asked,  trying  to  still  the  tumult  within  by  saying 
commonplaces. 

"  I  must  have  it  done  to-morrow,  before  a  freeze 


comes." 


He  took  a  jewel  from  his  breast  which  he  had 
purchased  for  his  marriage  gift  to  her.  "Take  this 
from  me  now,  Portia.  Will  you  always  wear  it  for 
me?  If —  if  —  anything  should  happen  to  me,  my 
beautiful  —  let  me  pin  it  on  you." 

"Nothing  must  happen  to  you,  John;   nothing 


414   When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

must  —  if  anything  should  —  and  you  should  never 
come  back  to  me  —  John,  I  would  die." 

He  caught  his  breath,  and  his  hands  trembled  so 
that  he  could  not  fasten  the  pin,  and  she  did  it  for 
him.  Then  he  kissed  her,  and  turned  away  with- 
out another  word.  She  stood  with  her  hands  still 
on  the  pin.  After  a  moment  she  heard  his  steps 
returning,   and  went  to  meet  him. 

"What  is  it,  John?" 

"I  —  I  forgot  to  leave  a  farewell  message  for 
your  mother  and  grandfather  and  for  —  Marguerite. 
I  have  not  told  her  I  was  going." 

Then  the  strong  hold  he  had  set  upon  himself 
gave  way,  and  for  an  instant  she  felt  as  if  a  whirl- 
wind had  seized  her.  She  felt  the  kisses  rained 
upon  her  face,  hot  and  fast,  upon  her  lips,  her 
eyes,  her  cheeks.  She  felt  herself  helpless  in  his 
grasp,  stunned  by  his  vehemence;  for  in  his  heart 
he  was  saying  with  every  kiss,  "  It  is  the  last,  the  . 
last  forever."  He  took  the  white  shawl  from  her 
shoulders.  "  Give  this  to  me.  I  have  wrapped 
you  in  it  so  often,  let  me  keep  it."  And  when  he 
was  gone  she  felt  that  he  was  weeping,  and  the 
tears  leaped  to  her  own  eyes.  Something  was 
wrong  with  him,  that  he  could  not  tell.  What 
was  this  sudden  going  away.?  With  heavy  fore- 
boding she  turned  into  the  house  to  weary  herself 
all  night  long  with  fruitless  questionings. 

Next  morning  a  small  package  and  two  letters 
came  to  Portia  as  her  share  of  the  mail.  She  took 
them  to  her  room.  One  of  the  letters  was  John's. 
She  recognized  the  hand,  and  kissed  it,  but  laid  it 
one  side  to  read  more  at  leisure,   and  opened  the 


A  Bitter  Cup  415 

package  and  the  other  letter.  They  were  from 
Mr.  Russell.  The  dear  old  man  had  heard  of  her 
approaching  marriage  and  had  sent  her  the  jewels 
he  had  hoped  she  might  one  day  wear  for  him. 
As  she  was  taking  them  from  the  box,  her  mother 
entered.  She  held  them  up  to  the  light,  —  a  neck- 
lace of  diamonds,  and  a  chain  of  rarest  antique 
workmanship,  and  a  beautiful  jewelled  watch.  Her 
cheeks  flushed. 

"  Oh,  mother,  how  beautiful !  —  but  —  but  — 
should  I  accept  them  ?  What  would  John  say } 
Here  is  Mr.  Russell's  letter.  What  a  pretty  letter 
it  is!  Read  it,  and  look  at  these  while  I  read 
John's." 

She  tore  off  the  envelope  and  threw  herself  in  a 
chair,  and  as  she  read  the  color  left  her  cheeks, 
then  her  lips;  but  she  read  it  through  to  the  very 
end.  When  Mrs.  Van  Ostade  looked  up  from  the 
letter  she  was  reading,  she  was  frightened  at  the 
expression  on  her  daughter's  face.  Portia  sat  rigid, 
as  if  seized  with  a  catalepsy,  —  the  letter  sheets  in 
her  lap,  her  hands  folded  upon  them. 

"Portia,  what  is  it.-*  "  Her  mother  came  to  her 
side,  but  she  did  not  move.  "  Portia,  speak ! " 
She  did  not  answer.  Her  mother  began  chafing 
her  hands,  for  they  were  stiff  and  cold,  and  called 
for  help.  Marguerite  came  with  eyes  red  from 
crying.  Hanford  had  been  telling  her  the  truth. 
She  knew  what  had  come  upon  Portia,  —  that  a 
sword  had  pierced  her  through.  They  laid  her 
upon  a  couch,  and  for  hours  labored  to  arouse  her, 
to  bring  the  tears  to  her  eyes. 

"  Portia,  look  at  me,  dear.     Cry  a  little.     Cry  as 


41 6    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

I  do,  dear,"  said  Marguerite,  piteously,  kneeling  at 
her  side.     "  Oh  !  if  she  only  could  !  " 

Finally  they  sent  for  Miss  Katherine.  Another 
face,  another  voice,  might  help. 

"  Ma,  they  are  in  trouble.  Perhaps  you  would 
better  go  too,"  said  Miss  Katherine.  "You  can 
speak  to  her  as  we  can't."  So  the  blind  woman 
went  and  sat  by  Portia's  side,  and  placed  her  hand 
on  her  head,  and  after  a  while  the  blessed  tears 
came,  and  they  all  withdrew,  and  left  them  alone 
together. 

"Oh,  Hanford,  is  there  nothing  we  can  do.'*" 
said  Marguerite. 

"  No,  darling,  we  cannot  change  what  is  nor  what 
has  been." 

"What  has  John  done?  " 

"  He  has  divided  all  he  has,  and  left  half  in  my 
hands  for  Portia's  use." 

"  The  noble  fellow  !  " 

"  And  he  has  left  her,  to  go  —  no  one  knows 
where." 

Marguerite  broke  forth  in  a  fresh  outburst  of 
grief. 

"And  he  has  left  instructions  that  if  your  aunt 
has  left  anything  to  him  in  her  will,  as  she  un- 
doubtedly has,  it  is  to  be  given  to  Chesterfield." 

"Of  course,  that  is  right,"  she  sobbed.  "Where 
has  he  gone,  Hanford  ?  " 

"No  one  knows,  darling,  but  he  will  write  to  me. 
I  made  him  promise  me  that,  and  he  did  it  on  con- 
dition that  I  would  not  reveal  his  whereabouts." 

"  Hanford,  I  wish  they  could  have  married  before 
he  found  it  out." 


a 


A  Bitter  Cup  417 

Hanford  groaned.  "Would  to  God  that  poor 
humanity  were  not  so  frail,  —  that  they  could  look 
at  the  spirit  through  the  temple  it  inhabits,  — 
what  is  wealth  or  caste  or  color  compared  with  the 
worth  of  a  soul?  Good  God!  How  long,  how 
long!"     He  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands. 

Marguerite  knelt  at  her  lover's  side  and  looked 
into  his  eyes.  "Hanford,  if  she  loves  him  as  I 
love  you,   I  know  what  she  will  do." 

Do  you,  darling.? "  he  said,  drawing  her  to  him. 
Yes,  and  I  am  going  to  tell  her  so  too." 
No,  no.  Marguerite,  such  questions  as  these 
the  heart  must  wrestle  with  alone.  We  can  only 
wait."  They  sat  in  silence  for  a  time,  then  Han- 
ford spoke  again,  for  she  was  sobbing  on  his 
shoulder.  "  For  us,  we  will  be  married,  Mar- 
guerite, and  then  we  will  watch  over  her  and  love 
her  for  John's  sake.      Shall  we.?  " 

"Yes,  Hanford." 

The  next  morning  Portia  stood  in  her  mother's 
room,  "clothed  and  in  her  right  mind."  Her 
grandfather  sat  in  his  chair,  bowed  down  with 
sorrow  for  her. 

"Grandfather,"  she  said,  "don't  be  so  sad.  I 
will  be  brave."  Then  kneeling  at  her  mother's 
feet  she  laid  her  head  in  her  lap  as  of  old.  "  Oh, 
mother,   dear  mother,   what  shall  I  do?" 

Her  mother  laid  her  hand  on  her  head.  "  No 
one  can  help  you,   Portia,  only  God." 


27 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE  JUDGMENT   OF   PORTIA 

AS  the  days  passed  slowly  away,  Portia  went 
about  her  accustomed  duties,  not  complain- 
ingly  nor  silently,  yet  a  pallor  had  crept  into  her 
face  and  her  joyous  buoyancy  was  gone.  A  note 
had  come  into  her  voice  strange  to  them  all. 

"If  it  were  I,  I  should  cry  my  eyes  out;  but 
then  just  her  voice  makes  me  sad.  It  sounds  like 
tears  held  back.  I  only  wish  she  would  cry  or  do 
some  desperate  thing.      I  should." 

"Marguerite,"  said  Portia,  one  day,  "I  wish  you 
and  Hanford  would  be  married  without  waiting  any 
longer.  I  want  to  see  you  happy  before  any  ter- 
rible thing  comes  between  you." 

"Don't  think  of  it,  Portia.  Why  should  any- 
thing come  between  us  ?  " 

"Ah!  but  don't  you  see.?  We  felt  safe  too,  a 
short  time  ago,  —  so  safe  Perhaps  I  am  only  ner- 
vous." When  Marguerite  told  Hanford  of  Portia's 
request,  he  said,  "  Let  us  be  married  now,  as  she 
says.  The  sadness  of  her  looking  forward  to  it 
will  be  passed  then.  We  will  go  away  for  a  few 
weeks  and  not  be  always  before  her." 

So  they  were  quietly  married,  and  the  light  of 
Marguerite's  joyous  presence  was  gone  from  the 
house  for  a  time,  and  Portia  sat  alone  in  her  room 
with   her  head  in   her   hands,   thinking,   thinking. 

418 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  419 

It  seemed  to  her  she  should  die  of  the  horror  of 
great  darkness  that  she  felt  settling  down  upon  her. 

"There  are  millions  and  millions  of  other  peo- 
ples in  the  world  more  than  there  are  of  us,"  she 
cried  in  her  heart.  "Are  we  the  only  ones  God 
loves.''  Then  why  did  he  make  them.-'  Why  are 
they  allowed  to  live  and  multiply.-*  Do  they  have 
souls  like  us.-*  Then  why  do  we  hate  them  and 
loathe  them.?  Did  Christ  feel  as  we  do  .'*  Why 
didst  thou  .do  this  thing,  Lord.?  What  have  I 
done,  Father,  that  thou  hast  done  this  thing.? 
What  has  he  done.?  Thou  didst  create  him,  thou 
didst  give  him  to  me.  Why  must  we  suffer  — 
wherein  have  we  sinned .?  " 

"Portia,"  said  her  mother  one  day,  "you  are  in 
the  house  too  much,   dear.     You  will  be  ill." 

"Yes,  mother,  I  am  going  out  this  morning,  to 
ride."  And  she  did;  she  rode  over  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Mammy  Clarissa's  cabin,  being,  as  it  were, 
drawn  irresistibly  thither.  It  was  the  first  time 
she  had  used  the  little  brown  horse  since  John 
went  away.  She  tied  the  creature  to  the  small 
sapling  near  the  door,  and  petted  its  brown  neck 
and  laid  her  cheek  against   its  velvety  nose. 

"Oh,  Brownie,  I  love  you!"  she  said  pitifully, 
and  went  into  the  cabin. 

Old  Clarissa  was  lying  upon  the  best  bed  at  last, 
alone,  fading  away.  A  smouldering  fire  still  glowed 
in  the  black  fireplace,  and  the  little  window  shutter 
was  open.  The  light  from  the  window  streamed 
across  her  face,  and  over  her  wrinkled  hands  lying 
folded  on  the  patchwork  counterpane.  All  was 
swept   and  tidied,   for   Gabriella  had   been  in  and 


420    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

set  things  straight  before  she  had  left  for  a  day's 
washing  in  the  village. 

The  old  woman  seemed  to  have  been  sleeping, 
for  she  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  Portia  in  a 
dazed  way  as  she  stood  there. 

"Why,  honey,"  she  said  feebly,  at  last,  "I  nuvva 
did  n'  know  yo'  stan'in'  dar. "  She  tried  to  rise, 
but  lay  back  again.  "I  kyan'  git  up  fo'  wait  on 
yo'  no  mo'.     Jes'  yo'   take  a  cheer,  honey." 

"Yes,  mammy,  yes.      I  can  wait  on  myself." 

"I  ain'  seed  yo'  fo'  a  mighty  long  time." 
Clarissa  closed  her  eyes  and  lay  quite  still,  as  if 
she  had  wandered  off  again. 

Portia  sat  down  in  the  old  woman's  chair,  for 
her  knees  trembled  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  should 
fall.  Then  she  rose  and  stood  by  the  bedside, 
looking  down  on  the  wasted  figure  and  frail, 
pinched  face  before  her.  A  strange  feeling  of  des- 
perate misery  possessed  her  for  a  moment,  as  if 
she  could  crush  out  the  poor  frail  life  of  the  un- 
witting cause  of  it.  Then  the  pathetic  truth  crept 
into  her  heart  with  its  softening  power,  and  she 
was  overwhelmed  with  the  sadness  of  it  all.  Old 
Clarissa  lay  so  still  Portia  felt  the  awe  stealing 
over  her  that  one  feels  in  the  presence  of  death, 
until  a  gentle,  sighing  breath  denoted  that  it  was 
not  death,  but  only  the  quiet  sleep  of  weakness. 

Through  the  wrinkles  and  pallor  she  noted  the 
fine  lines  of  the  old  face.  What  must  this  woman 
once  have  been.?  What  was  her  inheritance.'*  A 
slave,  but  beautiful,  strong,  lithe,  —  there  was 
grace  still  in  her  hands  as  they  lay  clasping  some- 
thing between  the  thin  fingers.      An  assortment  of 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  421 

articles  was  laid  out  on  the  counterpane  within 
reach  of  them.  Evidently  her  cherished  keepsakes 
had  been  placed  there  for  her  amusement  during 
Gabriella's  absence,  — a  bright-colored  pasteboard 
box,  and  a  silver  thimble,  a  little  mother-of-pearl 
cross,  and  a  ring  of  gold,  with  two  hearts  engraved 
on  it,  a  pair  of  ear-rings,  with  pendant  hoops,  and 
a  string  of  blue  porcelain  beads.  Wrapped  around 
a  little  pebble,  with  a  hole  in  it,  were  a  bit  of 
lace  and  a  faded  brocade  ribbon. 

While  Portia  still  stood  wondering  what  might 
be  the  mystery  of  her  life,  and  what  she  held  so 
closely,  —  why  she  had  been  allowed  to  cross  her 
path  and  come  between  her  and  the  sunlight  of 
her  hopes,  the  old  slave  looked  up  as  if  she  saw 
her  now  for  the  first  time. 

"Why,  honey,  is  yo'  dar.-^  Take  a  cheer,  chile." 
Again  she  tried  to  rise,  but  sank  back  as  before. 
"I  declar'  I  's  pow'ful  weak,  honey;  I  kyan'  git  up 
fo'  wait  on  yo'." 

"There,  mammy, never  mind,"  said  Portia, gently. 
"Tell  me  what  you  are  doing  with  these  things. 
How  long  have  you  been  ill  ?  You  ought  to  have 
sent  me  word  about  it. " 

"Laws,  honey,  I  ain'  sick;  I  jes'  gwine  home  at 
las',  I  reckon.  I  done  be'n  wait'n'  heah  fo'  young 
Mars'r  John  tu  come  in.  'Pears  like  he  a  mighty 
long  time  comin'."  The  old  eyes  closed  wearily, 
and  Portia,  dreading  to  have  her  lose  consciousness 
again,  spoke  quickly. 

"Mr.  Marshall  has  gone  away,  mammy;  I  don't 
know  where  he  is."  Portia  felt  as  if  she  were 
choking,  and  put  her  hand  to  her  throat.     "  Oh, 


42  2    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

Clarissa,"  she  cried  at  last,  "I  don't  know  where 
he  is,  —  you  can  tell  me.  You  are  going  to  the  God 
who  made  you,  — who  made  him,  — and  all  of  us  — 
there  you  can  see  him  wherever  he  is,  — can't  you 
almost  see  him  now?  Where  is  he?"  She  knelt 
by  the  bed  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  — 
shame,  despair,  grief,  overwhelming  her. 

Thoroughly  roused  by  Portia's  vehemence,  the 
old  woman  raised  herself  on  one  elbow,  and  gazed 
at  the  bright  young  head  bowed  in  passionate  grief, 
in  astonishment. 

Then  she  laid  her  hand  tenderly  on  Portia's  hair, 
and  her  old  eyes  shone  with  a  strange  gleam,  and 
her  wan  face  grew  radiant  as  a  faint  glimmering  of 
the  truth  crept  into  her  soul. 

"Why,  honey,  chile,  'pears  like  yo'  grievin'  fo' 
young  Mars' r  John  tu."  She  felt  over  the  bed 
covers  for  that  which  she  held  in  her  hands  when 
Portia  came  in.  It  was  a  small  oval  miniature 
exquisitely  painted  on  ivory  and  surrounded  by  a 
gold  frame  of  the  finest  workmanship.  "  Heah 
't  is,  honey.  I  'lowed  I  'd  done  los'  hit  —  my  h'a't 
took  sech  a  jump  —  hit  nerved  me  so,  — I  's  pow'ful 
weak,  honey." 

Portia  rose  and  took  the  picture  with  trembling 
hands.      "What  is  it,  mammy?" 

"Das'  Mars'r  Gen'l  Ma'shall  he's  ownse'f,  chile, 
—  young  Mars'r  John's  fadah,  honey;  de  ve'y 
sp'it  'n'  image  o'  he's  fadah,  de  way  he  done  look 
dat  time  he  come  'long  an'  pay  de  money  fo'  me, 
an'  tuk  me  off'nde  block  'long  home  wid  'im  dat 
time.  Yo'  look  at  hit,  chile;  yo'  eyes  young  an' 
sha'p,  I  reckon.     I   ain'  seed  hit  fo'  mighty  long 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  423 

while  back,  my  eyes  be'n  so  pore;  but  hit  de  ve'y 
p'it  'n'  image  o'  Gen'l  Mars'r  John,  hit  are." 
Portia  took  it  over  to  the  open  shutter,  the  one 
small  square  of  light  in  the  dusky  room,  and 
scanned  the  delicate  lines  of  the  painting  eagerly. 
There  it  was,  undisguised  by  the  old-fashioned 
costume  and  cut  of  hair,  — there  was  the  likeness 
to  her  lover.  Different,  yet  strangely  like.  More 
dreaminess  about  the  eyes,  less  alert  and  sharply 
cut  than  the  face  of  the  present;  but  still  there 
was  a  strength  of  character  and  dignity  in  all  the 
lineaments,   showing  a  noble  ancestry. 

"Where  did  you  get  this,  mammy.?"  she  said 
huskily. 

"I  jes'  tuk  hit,  honey.  Ol'  miz  lef  mighty 
suddent  aftah  dat  time  Mars'r  Gen'l  done  brung. 
home  f  om  de  wah,  she  did.  She  ain'  mo'  'n  git 
back  f'om  de  grabe,  w'en  she  begin  pack  up,  an' 
we-all  war  'bleeged  tu  help.  I  done  heahed  her 
tell  Miz  Wells  she  'low'd  we-all  wuz  gwine  be  sot 
free  nex'  t'ing  come,  an'  she  gwine  tek  all  but  de 
good-fo'-nuttin'  ones  'long  daown  Cuba  way  tu  her 
faddah's  plantation.  She  'lowed  we  'd  be  wuth  mo' 
there  'n  we  be  wuth  heah."  Poor  Clarissa  paused 
from  weakness,  but  Portia  could  not  let  her  rest. 

"Go  on,  mammy,  go  on.  Tell  me  more;  tell 
me  about  this,"  she  said,  still  gazing  at  the  pic- 
ture, fascinated  by  the  dreamy  likeness  to  the  one 
she  loved. 

"'Bouts  dat,  honey.?  01'  miz  lef  dat  on  her 
table  in  her  own  room.  Dat  de  onliest  t'ing  she 
lef  in  de  whole  haouse,  'cept'n'  me.  I  done  lock 
myse'f  in  de  closet  dat  time  de  ova'seer  chain  up 


424    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

de  niggahs  fo'  tek  'em  'long.  She  nuvva  try  de 
do'.  I  lay  dar  two  days  'daout  nuffin'  tu  eat,  an' 
I  nuvva  breave  ha'dly,  lest  she  hyah  me,  an'  tek  me 
long.  Josephus,  he  wan'  no  'count  dem  days  'daout 
me,  an'  Chas  he  done  run  'way,  so  she  nuvva  tuk  dem 
neider.  She  nuvva  cotch  we-uns,  naw 'm.  I  heahed 
'em  holla  an'  call,  an'  I  lay  still.  I  heah'd  her 
say,  '  Leah  go  callin'.  She  mount  a  fotch  a 
heap,  but  dar,  she  done  sp'ile  long  'go.  Anyhow, 
we  kyan'  sell  niggers  no  mo',  I  reckon.  Let  her 
stay  an'  starve.'  Ol'  miz  she  keer  mo'  fo'  de 
dollah  dan  she  keer  fo'  Gen'l  Mars'r  John  or  her 
own  soul,  I  reckon  so.      Honey,  I  's  pow'ful  dry." 

The  water  in  the  cabin  was  warm  and  stale,  and 
Portia  took  a  cup  and  hurried  down  the  winding 
path  to  the  spring  bubbling  out  of  a  rock  and 
brought  some  that  was  fresh  and  cool.  Out  in 
the  sunshine  her  courage  came  back  to  her.  She 
ceased  to  tremble,  and  as  she  bent  over  the  old 
woman  and  held  the  water  to  her  lips  her  heart 
grew  tender  toward  her,  and  a  peace  came  to  her 
which  she  had  not  felt  before,  which  she  had 
thought  was  forever  gone  from  her. 

''Drink,  mammy.  This  is  cool  and  nice.  Now 
try  to  think.  Tell  me  all  you  want  me  to  do. 
Why  did  you  give  me  this.-*" 

"I  wan'  yo'  tu  give  dat  tu  young  Mars'r  John, 
honey.  I  done  kep'  hit  fo'  him,  an'  heah  I  lyin' 
wait'n'  fo'  him  come  git  hit,  an'  see  he's  ol' 
mammy  once  mo'.  I  done  tol'  de  troof,  an'  'fess 
'fo'  de  Lawd,  an'  now  I  gwine  be  'lowed  tu  pass,  I 
reckon.  I  kyan'  wait  fo'  him  no  longer.  Honey, 
tell    'im   dat  ar'    de   ve'y  sp'it   'n'    image  o'  he's 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  425 

fadah;  like  he  done  look  w'en  he  young  like 
he  are." 

"But  I  don't  know  where  he  is,  mammy." 

"Yo'  kin  fin'  'im,  chile,  yo'  young  an'  spry.  I 
ain'  seed  nobody  pearter.  Look  a-heah,  honey, 
likely  he  done  gone  tu  he's  paw's  twin  brudder 
in  San  F'ncisco,  wha'  done  brung  'im  up  all  dese 
yeahs." 

Portia's  heart  leaped  within  her.  Why  had  she 
not  thought  of  that  ?  In  the  same  instant  she 
perceived  the  truth,  that  no  heart  clings  so  close 
to  another  as  a  mother's  to  her  son,  be  she  of  what- 
ever race  or  color. 

"Honey,  I  lub  dat  boy  lak  I  kyan'  tell  yo'  how 
I  lub  dat  boy,  — mo'  'n  I  lub  my  own  soul,  I  reckon. 
Yo'  tell  'im  dat,  honey." 

"Yes,  mammy,  yes.  Now  you  rest."  Portia 
smoothed  the  pillow  and  straightened  the  bed 
clothing,  and  then  after  a  little  search  found  some 
milk,  which  she  warmed  over  the  embers  and  gave 
the  old  woman  to  drink, 

"  Yo'  's  pow'ful  good  tu  ol'  mammy,  chile." 

"I  am  doing  this  for  your  boy  too,  Cl'issy." 

"Yo'  's  pow'ful  good,  honey." 

Portia  left  her  quietly  sleeping,  but  old  Clarissa 
never  woke  again  in  this  world. 

All  the  next  day  Portia  spent  in  her  room  alone, 
and  the  next  morning  she  appeared  at  the  break- 
fast table  composed  and  cheerful.  Hanford  and 
Marguerite  had  returned  and  were  to  spend  some 
time  longer  there,  when  Hanford  would  go  to  New 
York  and  resume  his  business.  Portia  seemed  to 
them  to  have  regained,  in  large  measure,  her  old 


426    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

manner  and  chceriness.  After  the  meal  was  over 
they  all  stayed  chatting  together  pleasantly;  and 
Portia,  slipping  her  arm  about  her  mother,  said 
caressingly,  — 

"  Mamma  deary,  can  you  and  grandfather  get 
along  without  me  for  a  while  ?  I  want  to  go  away 
somewhere.  I  hardly  know  where  nor  for  how 
long,  but  I  just  want  to  go.  I  will  write  to  you 
and  telegraph  you  every  day  if  you  wish,  so  don't 
think  I  am  going  to  run  away  entirely,"  she  said, 
noting  a  look  of  alarm  in  her  mother's  face  and 
laughing  a  little.  Then  she  turned  to  Hanford : 
"You  will  look  after  grandpapa  and  little  mother 
for  me,  will  you  not,  Mr.  Clark  ?  —  you  and 
Marguerite." 

Marguerite  sprang  up  and  threw  her  arms  about 
Portia's  neck.  "Oh,  you  darling,  you  darling!  I 
knew  you  would  do  it.  Yes,  we  will.  Of  course 
we  will,  won't  we,  Hanford.'*" 

Portia  kissed  her.  "  How  do  you  know  what  I  am 
going  to  do,  dear.'*  I  hardly  know  myself  yet. 
But  I  will  write  and  tell  you  all  I  do,  surely." 

"Whatever  you  do  will  be  right,  Portia,"  said 
her  grandfather.      "  I  am  always  sure  of  you. " 

"But,  daughter,"  said  her  mother,  anxiously, 
"you  won't, — you  will  let  us  know  very  soon 
where  you  are,   will  you  not }  " 

"Mother  dear,  don't  worry  about  me,  don't.  I 
have  travelled  alone  before,  and  you  never  thought 
of  being  troubled.  I  have  put  on  your  desk  a  plan 
of  the  places  I  may  go  to,  and  if  I  change  my 
course,  as  I  may,  I  will  telegraph  you  immediately, 
so  you  never  need  be  in  doubt  about  me.     Really, 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  427 

I  am  quite  sane,  and  happier  than  I  have  been  for 
weeks.     This  time  trust  me,  as  grandfather  does." 

"Yes,  dear,  you  know  I  do." 

"  And  mamma,  I  —  have  arranged  —  affairs;  you 
will  find  enough  for  everything  while  I  am  away. 
It  's  all  right.     I  am  sure  this  is  best." 

Mr.  Ridgeway  rose  hurriedly  and  walked  over  to 
the  window.  The  time  was  when  he  could  have 
saved  her  all  thought  of  that.  He  gazed  over  the 
landscape  for  a  moment  and  drummed  on  the  sill 
nervously,  then  he  walked  back  to  her  chair,  and 
bending  down  kissed  her  on  the  cheek.  "We  can 
spare  you  for  a  little  while,  but  not  long,"  he  said. 

She  took  his  face  between  her  two  hands.  "  You 
treasure  of  a  grandfather,"  she  said.  "Mamma, 
my  trunk  is  packed;  I  did  it  yesterday.  And, 
grandfather,  will  you  call  Alexander  to  bring  the 
carriage.?  I  will  run  out  and  see  Maggie  a  moment 
and  then  be  ready.  The  train  leaves  at  ten,  does 
it  not,  Mr.  Clark  ?  " 

She  seemed  quite  like  herself  again  as  she  left 
the  room  with  the  old  spring,  in  her  step;  and  as 
she  bade  them  a  cheery  good-bye,  they  all  felt  that 
to  have  arrived  at  a  plan  of  action  was  for  her  at 
least  salutary. 

Hanford  accompanied  her  to  the  station;  but 
she  said  little  of  her  plans  except :  "  I  have  de- 
cided to  use  some  of  the  money  John  wished  me 
to  have."  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  spoken  his 
name  aloud  to  any  one  except  in  old  Clarissa's 
cabin,  and  her  face  became  crimson,  and  she  turned 
her  head  away  that  he  might  not  see. 

"Yes,"  he  said  at  last,  "that  is  right;  it  is  as  he 


428    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

would  have  wished."  He  spoke  as  he  felt,  as  if 
his  friend  had  departed  from  this  life,  and  Portia 
laughed  out  a  nervous,  reckless  little  laugh ;  but  it 
served  to  lighten  the  tension  under  which  they  felt 
themselves. 

"No,  no.  John  is  not  dead,"  she  said.  "I  shall 
find  him.  I  could  not  use  it  for  anything  else,  you 
know  that,  and  I  am  going  to  ask  you  — •  " 

"He  has  not  written  me  yet;  I  could  not  tell 
you  where  he  is,  even  if  I  were  not  —  " 

"  I  was  not  going  to  ask  that.  I  would  not  even 
if  he  had  written.  No.  But  I  will  find  him  if  it 
takes  every  cent ;  if  I  have  to  work  my  way  through 
the  world  to  do  it.  I  was  going  to  speak  about 
mother  and  grandfather.     I  —  " 

"I  will  be  a  son  to  them;  do  not  fear,"  he  said 
tenderly. 

"I  believe  you."  She  gave  him  her  hand  as  he 
helped  her  from  the  carriage.  "  You  are  a  true 
friend  to  John  and  a  good  brother  to  me.  I  accept 
your  kindness,  but  you  can  never  know  how  much 
it  is  to  me.  Good-bye.  I  trust  them  to  you  for  a 
time.  Believe  me,  I  have  thought  well  over  what 
I  am  doing.     Good-bye." 

They  were  a  little  late,  and  she  stepped  on  to  the 
train  without  going  into  the  station.  He  turned 
instinctively  to  look  whether  her  trunk  had  been 
left  behind,  but  no.  She  had  attended  to  that  and 
her  ticket  the  evening  before.  He  smiled  as  he 
gazed  at  the  retreating  train. 

"She  's  all  right,"  he  said  to  himself.  "What- 
ever comes,  her  head  is  level.  I  wonder  if  she 
knows,  herseM,  just  where  she  is  going." 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  429 

Hardly  did  she  know.  She  was  feeling  her 
way  rather.  It  seemed  to  her  as  the  train  rushed 
through  the  tunnels  and  deep  cuts  among  the  hills, 
and  over  gorges  and  precipices,  winding  in  and 
out  among  the  very  mountain  peaks,  that  she  was 
being  borne  by  some  mighty  power,  at  its  own 
volition,  whether  she  would  or  no;  like  a  maiden 
in  a  fairy  tale,  taken  from  her  home  in  sleep  by 
some  awful  genie  and  carried  swiftly  on  through 
space,  to  reach  at  last  an  enchanted  castle  and  be 
awakened  by  a  lover's  kiss. 

She  leaned  back  on  the  cushions  and  closed  her 
eyes.  "Let  me  think,"  she  said.  But  she  did  not 
think,  she  was  only  dreaming;  looking  into  her 
lover's  eyes,  beautiful  now  with  the  light  of  self- 
renunciation,  —  touching  his  hand,  — feeling  him 
near  her,  —  think?  why  should  she  think?  she  had 
done  her  thinking  the  day  before;  now  she  might 
dream  and  drift,  moving  on  to  the  fulfilment  of 
that  which  she  had  already  calmly  determined 
upon.  Natures  like  Portia's  can  afford  to  some- 
times dream  and  live  in  an  ecstasy  of  the  imagina- 
tion. They  have  earned  the  right  to  this  highest 
indulgence  of  the  spirit  by  the  practical  energy  of 
their  lives,  the  care  and  faithfulness  with  which 
they  have  met  and  overcome  difficulties,  and  battled 
with  the  commonplace. 

Although  she  had  many  acquaintances  in  the 
city,  she  determined  to  go  directly  to  the  hotel 
where  John  usually  stopped  when  not  with  friends 
and  learn  if  he  had  been  there.  She  knew  he 
would  not  be  with  friends  of  the  past,  —  indeed, 
might  not  have  been   in  the  city  at   all,  —  there 


430    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

were  many  other  places  where  he  might  have  been 
staying,  but  he  had  said  New  York  when  he  left, 
so  she  went  there  first.  "  I  have  nothing  but  my 
woman's  intuition  to  guide  me  so  I  will  be  guided 
by  that,"  she  said,  — not  a  bad  thing  to  trust  to 
upon  occasion,   as  Portia  found. 

All  the  deadened  numbness  of  spirit  under  which 
she  had  labored  for  the  last  weeks  had  left  her, 
and  she  arrived  braced  for  any  emergency.  Had 
John  Marshall  been  in  New  York.'*  She  would 
know  if  she  had  to  look  over  every  hotel  register 
in  the  city. 

She  went  where  they  were  to  have  gone  on  their 
wedding  journey,  and  there  she  was  spared  this 
disagreeable  detective  duty.  He  had  been  there 
and  had  left  only  three  days  before.  She  secured 
a  room  and  locked  herself  up  to  think.  Yes,  he 
had  been  here  during  the  whole  of  the  last  week, 
alone,  where  they  were  to  have  been  together. 
While  she  was  kneeling  at  the  bedside  of  old 
Clarissa  he  had  been  here  thinking  of  her.  Now 
what  should  she  do.?  Inaction  was  terrible.  She 
must  go.  She  must  follow,  even  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth.  She  paced  restlessly  up  and  down  the 
room. 

"  Where  has  he  been  all  this  time.?  But  there, 
it  will  do  no  good  to  know  that.  He  has  been 
here  and  he  has  gone."  She  wrung  her  hands. 
"  Which  way  shall   I  turn  now  ?  " 

Suddenly  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  The  splendid 
poise  of  her  nature  seemed  to  be  leaving  her.  She 
felt  so    alone,    her  human    limitations    so   narrow. 


\ 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  431 

the  veil  of  the  future  seemed  drawn  so  closely 
about  her  and  to  be  so  impenetrable  and  dark,  she 
became,  as  it  were,  caught  up  out  of  herself  and 
lifted  toward  her  Creator. 
J^'  Souls  who  have  loved  intensely,  they  alone  can 
feel  this  irresistible  drawing  power,  and  through 
it  the  touch  of  the  Divine.  Love  opens  the  flood- 
gates of  heaven  and  unlocks  the  heart  for  the 
light  to  stream  in.  Love  leads  the  soul  to  God  by 
I  the  straightest,  swiftest  way.  That  which  we  call  i  y 
\  woman's  intuition  is  usually^  o'dXy  her  quick  re- 
isponse  to  Love's  leading.  \J^}y^M^  i^  /L4  '  ^ 
^  When  Portia  rose  from  her  knees,  her  face  was 
radiant  with  a  new  beauty.  She  began  to  do  little 
commonplace  things,  —  shaking  out  her  dresses 
and  arranging  a  few  small  articles  on  her  dressing- 
case  and  mantle,  singing  softly  as  she  moved 
about.  "I  shall  be  leaving  to-morrow,  but  it  will 
be  just  as  well  to  do  this,"  she  said.  Lying  just 
under  the  edge  of  the  wardrobe,  she  spied  a  small 
red  leather  notebook.  It  had  a  familiar  look,  and 
she  picked  it  up  quickly,  brushing  the  dust  from 
the  smooth,  pocket-worn  cover.  It  was  what  any 
man  might  have  dropped  and  lost  sight  of.  She 
turned  the  leaves  and  glanced  at  the  few  memo- 
randa it  contained.  They  were  in  John's  hand, 
and,  yes,  here  was  the  page  on  which  she  had 
jotted  down  for  him  once  a  few  measures  of  a  song 
she  wished  him  to  get  for  her.  She  could  not 
remember  the  name,  only  a  few  bars,  she  had  heard 
sung;  and  here,  under  her  careless  little  notes,  he 
had  written  two  words,  "Bless  her."  She  sank 
down    in    a    low  rocker,   clasping    the    little    book 


432    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

tightly  in  her  hands.  Here,  in  this  very  room ! 
Only  three  days  ago !  Surely  she  should  find  him. 
Where  should  she  go  first  ? 

He  would  be  sure,  sooner  or  later,  to  go  to  those 
who  had  stood  in  the  place  of  his  parents  for  so 
many  years.  At  least  he  would  write  to  them. 
Should  she  wait  and  write.?  No,  there  was  noth- 
ing to  do  but  to  take  the  long  journey.  She  must 
see  them  and  know  them.  Strangers  though  they 
were  to  her,  she  must  turn  to  them  for  help. 

Portia    spent    the   days    and   nights   of   her    trip 
across  the  continent  in  continual    pondering  over 
the  great  problem   of    life  and   its   complications. 
Her    heart    ached    for    humanity,    deeply    stirred 
through    her    love   for   her   lover.     All    along  the 
miles  upon  miles  of  prairie  land,  lacking  now  the 
beauty  of  the  waving  sea  of  green  of  the  spring- 
time, and  on,  across  the  barren  alkali  plains,  where 
the    bones    of    dead    cattle    lay    bleaching,    or   the 
wreck  of  an  emigrant  wagon  flapped  in  the  never- 
ceasing   breeze    its   tattered    covering,   waving    its 
rags,  like  thin  brown  hands,  with  long  attenuated 
fingers,  mutely  wrung  in  woful  lament  over  those 
who  had  gone  on  in  hunger  and  pain,  leaving  the 
wreck  behind  them,   still   to  follow  the  treacher- 
ous ignis  fatinis  of  gold  to  their  doom,  Portia,  rapt 
in  her  own  thoughts,   sat  silent,   unheeding  those 
around  her.      She  gazed  out  of  the  window,  at  the 
flying,   shifting  monotony  of  the  scene,   until  her 
heart  as  well   as   her  eyes  ached.     At  the  eating 
stations   she    looked   into  the  faces    of   the  rough 
miners,    or   was    importuned    by  a   copper-colored 
squaw  to  look  at  her  pappoose  and  give  her  a  silver 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  433 

piece  for  the  privilege.  She  noted  the  half-breeds 
lounging  about  the  stations,  and  the  deft  Chinese, 
laboring  and  chattering  together  in  their  musical 
sing-song,  and  more  heavily  and  more  insistently 
the  great  problem  of  life  forced  itself  on  her. 

Why  were  all  these  created  ?  For  what  end  all 
this  struggle,  this  searching  for  gold,  this  squalor 
and  degradation?  These  women,  whose  great 
hungry  eyes,  like  the  eyes  of  animals,  looked  into 
hers  eagerly,  for  a  smile  for  the  babies  at  their 
backs;  these  stolid  men,  whose  only  motive  in  life 
seemed  to  be  merely  to  exist,  —  for  what  end  ? 

A  little  girl  timidly  offered  her  a  bit  of  pottery. 
She  bought  it  and  carried  it  back  with  her  into  the 
train,  and  here,  in  this  piece  of  rudely  shaped,  and 
decorated,  and  unevenly  burnt  clay  she  found  the 
answer  to  all  her  questionings.  This  little  Indian 
child  was  her  teacher,  for  she  saw  in  the  little  jar 
she  had  bought,  the  shaping,  creating  hand,  the 
imagining  mind.  And  in  the  embryotic  chaos  of 
ideas  displayed  in  the  strange,  symbolic  design  and 
coloring  of  the  decoration  she  saw  the  aspiration 
of  a  soul,  —  a  reaching,  striving,  yes,  even  an 
attaining  soul. 

"And  these  are  our  brothers  and  sisters,"  she        \ 

thought.     "  The  great  Caucasian  race  must  stoop  to 

these  before  it  can  rise  higher.     They  have  reached 

the  boundary  line    past  which   they  cannot    move 

toward    God-likeness    until    they  have  learned    to 

place  God's  estimate  of  value  on  a  human  soul,  of 

whatever  race  or  condition.     The  value  of  a  human 

soul  —  God's  estimate  —  then  these  must  be  lifted 

up  before  we  can  rise  out  of  the  grovelling,  man- 
28 


434    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

made  standards  we  have  set  up  for  ourselves.  Can 
a  small  part  of  humanity  be  culled  out  from  the 
whole  to  be  raised  up  to  God's  image,  and  the  rest 
lie  where  they  are  and  die  ? " 

She  looked  toward  the  setting  sun,  where  a  dis- 
tant peak  of  the  Rockies  stood  out  like  burnished 
gold  against  a  molten  sky,  and  above  it  the  rays 
of  light  streamed  upward  like  a  flaming  cross, 
lifted  and  held  over  the  earth  by  a  mighty,  unseen 
hand. 

"And  I,  if  I  be  lifted  up,  will  draw  all  men  unto 
me."  The  words  repeated  themselves  in  her  heart. 
"  All  men  —  all  men  —  not  we  alone,  because  we 
are  white,  — all  men.  These  must  be  lifted  up,  — 
all  these."  As  the  train  rushed  on,  the  monotonous 
rhythm  of  its  motion  seemed  to  beat  out  these 
words  in  continual  chant.  "All  men  —  all  men  — 
not  we  alone." 

From  her  bosom  she  drew  the  ivory  miniature, 
and  again  she  studied  it.  The  face  of  her  lover 
masquerading  in  old-time  costume  looked  out 
at  her  as  from  a  tiny  window.  The  charm  of 
strong,  beautiful  young  manhood  was  in  that  face, 
—  a  pride  and  a  fineness  born  of  generations  of 
patrician  ancestry ;  and  this  one,  this  beautiful 
one,  had  stooped  from  his  high,  God-given  position 
to  the  slave;  and  so,  after  all  these  years,  the  eyes 
that  looked  out  of  the  tiny  window  into  hers  were 
those,  not  of  the  father,  but  of  the  son,  the  child 
of  the  slave,  — -her  lover's  eyes.  The  tears  came, 
one  by  one,  and  she  furtively  wiped  them  away, 
and  wrapping  the  picture  in  a  little  lace-trimmed 
handkerchief  she  placed  it  back  in  the  bosom  of 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  435 

her  dress,  and  the  train  rushed  on  over  the  long, 
monotonous  desert,  rumbling  the  same  chant. 
Should  she  find  him  at  last  at  the  end  of  her  jour- 
ney, the  one  she  loved  ? 

The  last  day  was  the  longest  day  of  all  the  five. 
How  slowly  the  train  seemed  to  drag  its  weary 
length  along!  Her  heart  beat  high,  and  her  cheeks 
were  flushed.  She  scarcely  noticed  the  beauty  of 
the  scenes  through  which  she  passed.  As  the  land- 
scape flashed  by,  she  thought  vaguely  of  the  evanes- 
cence of  all  things. 

"Everything  will  pass,  all  will  go  by  like  this, 
and  there  will  be  nothing  left  of  us  but  our  spirits. 
We  shall  have  only  what  we  are.  The  standards  of 
the  world  are  not  just;  they  are  hard  and  cruel. 
I  am  glad  they  are  to  pass  away.  I  am  glad  we 
are  to  be  judged  by  the  merciful  justice  of  God  at 
the  last,  and  not  by  each  other."  As  she  leaned 
wearily  back  and  closed  her  eyes,  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  she  were  really  passing  out  of  one  world  into 
another,  and  then  suddenly  there  was  the  stir  and 
bustle  about  her  of  the  arrival,  and  she  was  at  the 
end  of  her  journey. 

She  rose  and  passed  out  with  the  crowd.  No 
one  to  meet  her,  none  in  the  city,  unless  John 
were  there,  whom  she  even  knew;  but  somewhere 
in  the  great  busy  place  were  two  whom  he  loved. 
She  rested  only  an  hour  in  the  hotel,  and  then  set 
out  on  the  search.  In  one  of  the  finest  of  the  older 
residences,  on  one  of  the  hills  of  that  city  of  hills, 
she  found  them.  Roses  and  fuchsias  climbed  up 
the  side  of  the  old  house,  and  round  the  piazza  and 
windows,    and   geraniums    covered   the   foundation 


436    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

stones.  The  windows  were  wide  open,  and  the 
lace  curtains  were  blowing  out  in  the  breeze. 

A  Chinese  servant  admitted  her,  and  ambled  off 
in  his  slippered  feet  to  find  his  mistress.  The 
parlor  in  which  she  waited  was  large,  and  amply 
furnished  with  plain,  unostentatious  elegance.  The 
mistress  of  this  home  sat  in  her  little  back  sitting- 
room,  gently  swaying  to  and  fro  in  a  low  rocker, 
darning  one  of  her  husband's  socks,  and  chatting 
with  him,  as  he  sat  opposite  her,  trying  to  read 
his  paper,  and  looking  at  her  over  the  top  of  his 
glasses.  She  was  a  trim  little  body,  and  not  so 
little  neither,  only  she  had  the  dainty  neatness  of 
figure  and  dress  that  usually  distinguishes  small 
women. 

In  the  mornings,  when  shopping,  or  about  her 
homely  household  tasks,  she  always  wore  brown 
serge,  but  in  the  afternoons  she  invariably  wore 
black  satin,  with  blond  net  smoothly  folded  about 
her  throat,  and  down  the  open  bosom  of  the  dress, 
and  pinned  with  an  old-fashioned,  large  cameo 
brooch. 

So  she  appeared  now,  a  very  pleasant  sight  in 
the  eyes  of  her  husband,  when  the  meek  Celestial 
handed  her  Portia's  card  and  slipped  noiselessly 
away. 

She  rose  suddenly,  scattering  scissors  and  balls  on 
the  floor.  "  Darius  Wentworth  Marshall !  "  she 
cried. 

"Well,  Mary.?"  he  reached  from  his  chair,  and 
gathered  up  the  articles  she  had  dropped  with  the 
unconscious  patience  born  of  years  of  such  willing 
service. 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  437 

"  Look  at  that  card !  I  told  you  if  she  was  worth 
him  she  would  follow  him.  I  told  him  so  too.  I 
would." 

''Certainly  you  would,  Mary,"  he  said,  with  a 
quiet  smile;    "that  goes  without  saying." 

She  began  brushing  the  threads  from  her  dress. 
"Now,  Darius,  what  shall  I  say.^  We  will  keep 
her  right  here,  of  course;  but  what  shall  I  say  .-^  " 

"Wait  till  you  see  her,  Mary.  You  will  say  the 
right  thing  then.     You  know  you  will." 

She  patted  his  cheek,  kissed  him,  and  left  him. 
This  childless  woman  had  petted  her  husband  for 
forty  years.  It  had  become  a  habit  with  her 
now. 

Some  women,  whether  they  be  young  or  old, 
whether  they  be  conscious  of  it  or  not,  more  often 
not,  have  the  power  of  drawing  other  souls  to 
themselves,  to  love  them  and  to  need  them.  There 
is  no  magnet  so  strong  or  so  blessed  as  the  sym- 
pathizing, loving  heart  of  a  sweet,  g6od  woman. 

Portia,  wearied  with  her  long  journey,  felt  her 
knees  tremble  under  her  as  she  rose  to  meet  John's 
Aunt  Mary,  but  the  moment  she  looked  into  those 
kindly  gray  eyes  she  knew  why  it  was  he  had 
always  so  loved  her.  For  an  instant  the  lips  of 
each  quivered  with  unspoken  thoughts.  They  held 
out  their  hands  to  each  other,  and  in  another 
moment  were  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

Then  Portia  spoke  between  her  sobs.  "  I  had  to 
come  to  you,  John  loved  you  so.  There  was  noth- 
ing left  for  me  to  do." 

"You  have  done  just  right.  I  have  been  expect- 
ing you  for  the  last  three  days.     John  said  you 


438    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

would  not  come;  I  said  I  knew  you  would.     Now 
come  right  up  to  your  room." 

"  How  could  you  expect  me?  It  was  such  a  wild 
thing  for  me  to  do.  I  did  not  know,  myself,  when 
I  left  home,  that  I  was  coming.  I  did  not  even 
know  that  he  was  here.      I  just  came,  that  is  all." 

"How  did  I  know  you  were  coming .-*  Why, 
child,  I  have  been  a  woman  all  my  life.  That  is 
how  I  knew.  Here  is  your  room,  the  one  he  used 
to  have.  I  wanted  him  to  take  it  again,  but  he 
would  not.  He  said  it  brought  back  too  many 
memories.  Poor  fellow!  he  is  just  about  out  of  his 
head,  that  's  what  he  is." 

*'What  a  dear  room!"  said  Portia,  entering  it. 
"  How  could  he  help  having  it  again  .'*  " 

"Why,  the  boy  is  crazy;  he  doesn't  —  but  there, 
dear,  he  will  be  all  right  now." 

Portia,  still  quivering  with  excitement,  bent  over 
a  great  vase  of  roses  on  the  table.  "  How  sweet 
these  are ! "  she  said,  trying  to  calm  herself. 

"John  set  out  the  bush  those  grew  on  the  last 
year  he  was  here.  I  always  keep  a  vase  of  them  in 
this  room.  Where  is  your  trunk.-*"  Portia  told 
her.  "Very  well.  It  shall  be  sent  for  immedi- 
ately." The  dear  old  lady  bustled  about  a  moment, 
then  took  a  chair  near  Portia's.  "Now,  dear,  tell 
me  everything  you  wish,  and  ask  all  the  questions 
you  wish." 

"You  are  so  good.     When  did  John  come.?  " 

"Three  days  ago." 

"And  do  you  know  what  he  is  going  to  do.'*  " 

"  That  he  will  tell  you  now,  dear.  He  was  going 
to  Japan.     He  was  to  start  to-morrow. " 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  439 

Portia  turned  pale.  "Oh,  what  if  I  had  waited 
another  day !  " 

"Now,  child,  you  are  too  tired  to  talk  or  think. 
You  didn't  wait  another  day,  so  it  is  all  right." 
She  left  the  room,  returning  immediately  with  a 
long  white  wrapper  of  soft  quilted  silk  over  her 
arm.  "You  just  put  this  on  and  lie  down  for  an 
hour,  and  by  that  time  your  trunk  will  be  here,  and 
then  you  can  put  on  a  fresh  dress  and  see  John  for 
yourself.  He  will  be  back  by  that  time.  This 
is  mine,  but  I  guess  we  are  about  of  a  bigness, 
are  n't  we.-^  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Portia,  smiling,  "  some  day  I  will 
tell  you  how  good  you  are.  I  can't  now,  but  I  will 
do  whatever  you  tell  me  to." 

Sweetly  and  dreamlessly  she  rested  in  the  rose- 
scented  room,  and  awoke  refreshed  and  strength- 
ened. She  came  downstairs  dressed  in  the  colors 
John  loved  best  to  see  her  wear,  —  a  creamy  white 
gown,  with  violet  bands  of  velvet,  and  knots  of 
ribbon,  and  at  her  belt  a  cluster  of  John's  roses. 
The  pretty  pink  flush  had  come  back  to  her  cheeks, 
and  Aunt  Mary's  eyes  were  satisfied  with  the  sight 
of  her.  She  took  her  in  her  arms  once  more,  then 
turned  her  about  to  see  her  on  all  sides. 

"There!  Now  you  are  just  what  a  woman  ought 
to  be.  I  don't  wonder  John  fell  in  love  with  you. 
Now,  dear,  I  am  going  to  leave  you  here  alone. 
You  take  a  book  and  read  a  while.  John  has  come 
back,  and  gone  up  to  his  room.  He  will  be  down 
soon;  he  is  so  restless  he  never  stays  anywhere 
more  than  a  minute  except  at  night,  and  then  he 
walks  the  floor  most  of  the  time.     No,  I  haven't 


440    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

told  him  you  are  here,  —  not  a  thing;  and  when 
he  comes  in,  dear,  don't  you  mind  a  thing  he  says. 
He  has  got  to  the  point  where  he  doesn't  know 
what's  good  for  him,  nor  care." 

Portia  was  glad  he  had  not  been  told  of  her  pres- 
ence. She  did  not  wish  him  to  have  time  to  pre- 
pare himself  to  meet  her,  nor  in  his  self-renunciation 
to  try  to  dissuade  her  from  her  purpose  by  appear- 
ing to  feel  other  than  he  really  felt.  She  wished 
to  surprise  him  into  such  betrayal  of  himself  that 
his  whole  heart  would  be  revealed,  that  he  might 
not  say  her  nay. 

She  walked  the  room  restlessly  a  moment,  then 
went  to  the  window  and  looked  out.     A  Chinaman, 
trudging  under  a  pair  of  heavy  baskets,  passed  by. 
Everywhere  they  seemed  to  be  in  evidence.      She 
did  not  realize  that   she  was   effectually  screened 
from  the  room  by  the  silken  curtains,  and  at  the 
moment  John  entered.     Her  heart  stood  still.     She 
shrank  back  into  the  corner,  dreading  to  move,  and 
drew  the  curtains   closer   about  her.     He  walked 
slowly  about,  looking  absently  at  this  and  that,  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  his  head  drooped.     All  the 
vigorous  activity  of  mind  and  body  seemed  to  have 
left   him.     His  eyes    looked  sad  and   larger   than 
usual.     Only  his  hair  clung  a  little  to  his  temples, 
pressed  down  by  his  hat,  as   it  used  when  he  came 
hurriedly  from  a  walk  over  the   hills.     Presently 
he  dropped  down  into  his  aunt's  little  rocker,  and 
sat  with    his   elbows  on  his  knees,   and    his   head 
in  his  hands.      Slowly,  involuntarily,   Portia  came 
toward  him,  holding  out  her  hands,  and  John  lifted 
his  head.     Then,  in  that  instant,  she  saw  all  she 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  441 

wanted  to  see,  all  her  heart  craved.  He  rose,  with 
his  old  joyous  smile,  glowing,  transfigured,  and 
then,  without  moving  a  step  toward  her,  sank  back 
into  his  chair,  shaken,  quivering,  and  covered  his 
face. 

She  went  near  to  him,  and  placed  one  hand  on 
his  hair,  lightly  touching  the  soft  rings.  He  put 
out  his  hand  to  thrust  her  gently  from  him,  but 
instead  his  fingers  closed  over  hers  and  held  them 
close. 

"  Go  away  from  me,  Portia,  go  away,"  he  groaned, 
yet  clinging  to  her  hand  as  a  drowning  man  clings 
to  a  straw. 

She  knelt  beside  him,  and  laid  her  cheek  against 
his;  it  was  wet  with  tears.  She  took  her  own 
handkerchief  and  wiped  them  away,  while  his  arm 
stole  about  her  and  drew  her  to  him. 

"Portia,  Portia,  I  would  have  saved  you,  dear;  I 
would  have  saved  you.  Why  did  you  come,  my 
beautiful.?"  Then  he  looked  at  her.  Hungrily, 
tenderly,  his  eyes  looked  into  hers,  while  the  strong 
arm  that  held  her  quivered.  "I  can't  sacrifice 
you,  Portia;  I  can't  do  it.  I  love  you  too  well. 
You  have  come  to  me  like  an  angel.  You  have 
brought  me  happiness  enough  for  a  lifetime;  you 
have  brought  me  happiness  enough  for  heaven. 
Now  go,  dear;  let  this  be  the  last.  Let  me  go 
away  from  you  now  and  bear  the  sins  of  my  fathers 
alone." 

Up  to  this  time  Portia  had  not  spoken,  —  she 
could  not.  Now  the  words  came  like  a  flood. 
"Why  did  I  follow  you,  John.'*  Because  I  must* 
I  would  have  followed  you  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 


442    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

If  you  had  gone  where  you  were  going  to-morrow,  I 
would  have  followed  you  there.  I  did  not  know 
you  were  here,  John,  I  only  followed  my  heart; 
that  was  how  I  found  you.  What  kind  of  a  woman 
did  you  take  me  for.?  Did  you  think  I  would  stay 
there,  at  home,  and  take  the  money  you  left  me, 
while  you  wandered  off  into  the  world  alone  with 
this  hurt  in  your  soul  ?  " 

She  put  her  hand  into  her  bosom  and  drew  out 
the  little  miniature  of  his  father,  which  she  had 
carried  so  carefully.  "Before  I  left,  John,  I  went 
to  see  your  mother;  she  is  dead  now.  I  thought 
she  was  dying  when  I  went  into  the  cabin,  but  she 
said  she  was  only  waiting  for  you  to  com.e  in. 
She  begged  me  to  tell  her  where  you  were,  and  I 
could  n't.  Then  she  gave  me  this  for  you;  look  at 
it.      It  is  your  father. " 

He  took  it  from  her  and  threw  it  on  the  floor, 
and  would  have  set  his  heel  on  it,  but  she  snatched 
it  up. 
/  "  I    tell   you,   Portia,   I    am    cursed.      My  father 

cursed  me,"  he  said  vehemently.  "  Give  it  to  me." 
He  groaned  and  turned  his  face  away,  but  still 
held  her  to  him. 

"  Other  fathers  have  sinned;  yours  is  not  the  only 
one.  Every  human  being  must  bear  in  some  way 
the  sins  of  his  fathers.  All  are  not  cursed.  You 
must  not  forget  the  last  part  of  that  command- 
ment, '  Showing  mercy  unto  thousands  of  them 
that  love  me  and  keep  my  commandments. '  Why, 
John,  I  love  this  little  picture.  It  looks  like  you, 
John,  — as  if  you  were  wearing  those  old-fashioned 
clothes,  and  looking  out  at  me.     Look  at  it.    Think 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  443 

of  that  beautiful  young  man,  your  father.  If  I  had 
lived  then  and  had  known  him  as  I  do  you  now,  I 
should  have  loved  him,  John.  No,  you  cannot 
have  it.  I  shall  keep  it  here,  as  I  have  done,  so 
carefully,   until  you  can  love  it  as  I  do." 

"Oh,  Portia,  if  I  could  only  die  now!  You  have 
brought  me  this  moment  of  perfect  happiness  —  but 
it  cannot  last,  dearest,  it  must  not.  Do  you  remem- 
ber that  last  night  when  I  bade  you  good-bye.-*  " 

"Yes,  John."  She  spoke  so  low  he  scarce  could 
hear  her.  "How  could  I  forget.''  "  and  her  cheeks 
flamed  crimson  at  the  remembrance  of  that  good- 
bye. 

"  I  was  crazed,  then,  darling,  but  I  meant  it  for 
all  time.  It  was  to  save  you;  it  was  best, — and 
now  —  " 

Portia  felt  herself  choking.  She  tried  to  speak, 
and  struggled  for  her  voice. 

"Wait,  wait,  John;  don't  say  it,  — let  me  speak." 
Suddenly  she  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and 
drew  his  head  down  to  her.  "  Listen,  listen  to  me. 
Once  you  conquered  me,  John.  You  made  me  love; 
you  know  it,  John.  You  made  me  say  words  to 
you,  —  do  you  remember  ?  —  you  said  them  to  me,  — 
*  No  power  on  earth  shall  take  you  from  me,  John.' 
Now  this,  that  is  taking  you  from  me,  that  you  are 
allowing  to  take  me  from  you,  is  an  earthly  power. 
Man,  not  God,  made  the  distinctions  that  would 
separate  us.  God  made  you,  and  gave  you  your 
living  soul,  his  forever.  Must  I  give  up  the  God- 
made  man  for  the  man-made  distinctions  that  would 
discriminate  between  one  of  his  living  souls  and 
another.?     John,  to  him  all  souls  are  white  souls; 


444    When  the  Gates  Lift  Up  their  Heads 

he  made  them  all ;  he  so  loved  the  world,  John, 
not  only  one  race  of  it.  We  must  do  the  same 
before  we  can  cross  the  boundary  line  we  have 
reached  now  toward  God-likeness.  One  day  we 
must  go  to  him ;  we  can  take  to  him  only  what 
we  are;  all  the  rest  will  pass  away  and  be  as  noth- 
ing. John,  what  I  love  in  you  is  what  God  loves. 
Take  me,  John,  and  love  me." 

He  was  conquered.  He  rose,  strong  in  his  man- 
hood's strength,  and  again  his  face  shone  like  the 
face  of  one  transfigured.  He  lifted  Portia  from 
her  knees  and  held  her  to  his  breast.  *' Forever, 
darling,   forever,"  he  said. 

"And,  John,  the  past  is  to  be  put  behind  us  for 
all  time.  You  are  to  be  as  I,  and  I  am  to  be  as 
you." 

"Forever,  my  beautiful.  Where  is  the  dress  I 
never  saw, — your  wedding  dress.''" 

"  I  have  it  with  me.      It  is  upstairs." 

"Will  you  wear  it  for  me  to-morrow,  Portia.''" 
His  eyes  danced  with  the  old  light,  but  his  lips 
quivered. 

"  Yes,  John.  Shall  I  go  with  you  wherever  you 
go?" 

"Always,  dearest,   always.      I  could  not  let  you 
leave  me  now;    it  would  take  my  life." 
Shall  we  go  back,  John  ?  " 

Not  yet.  We  will  arrange  for  your  dear  little 
mother;  we  will  think  about  it,  and  then  we  will 
go  where  I  intended  to  go  alone,  and  become  ad- 
justed to  the  world.  You  see,  sweet  one,  I  have 
entered  a  new  world  now,  and  must  learn  to  know 
it.     You  are  to  teach  me." 


The  Judgment  of  Portia  445 

When  Aunt  Mary  entered  the  room,  she  was 
satisfied.  Mt  is  all  right,  dears;  it  is  just  as  it 
should  be.  I  saw  how  it  was,  John,  the  moment  1 
looked  at  her.  You  could  not  help  loving  her  any 
more  than  she  could  help  loving  you.  I  told  you 
she  would  come,  and  she  did.  That  's  just  what  I 
should  have  done.     Now  come  out  to  tea." 


THE   END 


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